


brokenness is a form of art

by animmortalist



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Support, F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Partnership, Slow Burn, Survival, a little (little) bit of r.echo and m.emori
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25692553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animmortalist/pseuds/animmortalist
Summary: An impulse. A prayer. A hope.Bellamy stays behind with Clarke as Praimfaya hits. And everything that happens after.*on hiatus*.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, John Murphy/Raven Reyes
Comments: 112
Kudos: 299
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	1. Prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are with a new story. this one has been in the works for months and I'm excited to finally be sharing it. I know I have a couple other projects right now, but this one has been burning a hole in my google docs, and it was also written for the amazing initiative bellarke fic for blm. if you haven't, I really suggest checking out the main account and all the great work other writers are doing. 
> 
> this fic is something I've been invested for while, but just a warning, a lot of the events in this prelude are for *plot reasons* and might not hold up to much scrutiny. I apologize for that, but hope it still works out! 
> 
> this one's gonna be a journey, and I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> *story title is from 'Neptune' by Sleeping At Last*
> 
> sending love and good thoughts to you all 💖💜💙

As the seconds tick by, Bellamy knows Clarke’s out of time. Something must’ve gone wrong, for her to not be back by now. He knows they have to go now if the rest of them are going to survive. If they’re going to even have a chance of it. But he believes in her and is certain she’ll make it so they can get to space. All of them. As the seconds pass, he becomes more sure of the impossible that is before him. He knows he has to leave her.

He knows all of these things, but he can’t force himself to look away from the door to the lab. Hoping beyond hope that Clarke manages to come running through it. That she will crash through and they’ll scramble up and away back to where they came from. Just in time. 

She doesn’t come, though. The doors stay empty. He can’t let it be true, for only one more second. For that second, he allows himself to dream of her living. 

“Bellamy,” Raven says, her own despair evident in her voice. 

He looks back at her. “I know, Raven.”

The rest of them have concern etched on their faces. Harper, Monty, Emori, Murphy, even Echo, though he wonders if she’s more worried about being in space with them than waiting on Clarke. All of them except for Jasper, who looks vaguely as if he’s contemplating jumping out of his seat. Bellamy knows Monty somehow convinced him to live, but he wonders if that will last. How long. They all have so much on their shoulders that he’s worried for all of them. But at the moment, it’s eclipsed by concern for one person in particular. 

He returns his gaze back to the doors. 

_Please_ , he thinks. _I’ll do anything. Just don’t make me have to do this._

But he understands. They have to leave. He has to leave _her_. His body physically aches at the very idea of it. If he does this, if he leaves her behind, he knows it will never stop, this ache. It will follow him around like a ghost. Except one that keeps him in its clutches instead of slipping through his fingers. 

He wonders if she will haunt him, too. For betraying her. For abandoning her. There’s no doubt in his mind that he will deserve it. 

“Bellamy,” Raven repeats. “If we don’t leave now—” 

She can’t seem to say the words. 

Bellamy nods. “I know.” 

He hates the way his voice gives so much away. How this, leaving her behind, will destroy him. Probably do irreparable damage. Make him hard in ways that the world has somehow not yet despite all that he has faced and done. It’s all over Raven’s expression, she hates this, too. But she knows it’s different for him.

Why is it always different when it comes to him and Clarke? 

There isn’t time to dwell on the thought. Not when a choice is before him. An impossible one, at that. 

In the end, it isn’t so much of a decision as it is an impulse. 

He turns and grabs the door to the rocket to shut it. With him still on the outside. Raven figures out what he’s doing immediately and halts the movement. 

“No way,” she stutters. “No fucking way are we leaving both of you. Get in your damn seat, Bellamy.”

“You take care of them,” he tells her.

“I won’t.” She shakes her head. “Because you’re going to be up there. You’re going to take care of them, of us. We need you. Clarke knows that. Clarke—”

“I can’t leave her,” he says, voice cracking with the effort to hold back everything it means. Everything he doesn’t want to admit it means. “Don’t make me, please, Raven.”

And words from months ago come back to him: _We can’t lose Clarke! We can’t lose her_. How easy it is to admit that it’s him who needs her when she isn’t around. Maybe he will have a chance to say those words to her, before the death wave hits. Before their lives are extinguished and they’re turned to dust. 

“Bellamy, we need you!” Raven exclaims.

They do, he thinks. It’s selfish of him to do this. Not at all what Clarke told him earlier. About using his head. She would be so pissed if she could see what he was doing now. Strangely, it makes him smile sadly. She might hate him, for this. But he doesn’t give a shit. He can’t just let her die alone. She deserves more than that. She deserves a whole life. A happy one. He might not be able to give her that, but he can be there when their last breath leaves them. It will have to be enough. 

“Raven,” Murphy comes around from behind her. “We have to go.”

She shakes her head again and shoots a glare at him over her shoulder. “Are you insane? We’re not leaving Bellamy. No, he’s getting in, whether we have to force him to or not.”

Murphy looks at him and he sees the acceptance there that Raven doesn’t yet have. He understands that this is happening. That he isn’t going with them. He can’t go with them. Bellamy gives him as reassuring a nod as he can manage. He never thought he’d be thankful for Murphy, but he is. More than he could ever say. 

“You can do it,” he tells them both now. “You’ll do it for us.”

They aren’t much, these words, but Murphy takes a breath. “You do what you gotta do.” 

He places a hand on Raven’s shoulder. She’s on the verge of tears, ones of anger. Which Bellamy will accept if it means she’ll survive. If they all will. 

Just not him and Clarke. 

Raven stifles out a breath. “Okay.” She swallows thickly. “You’re a good man, Bellamy.” He huffs out a laugh, and she returns it, crying now. She brushes the tears away, but new ones fall. “I’ll take care of them.”

He knows she will. They will take care of each other. Be a family, maybe. Like back to their Dropship days. The thought makes him feel confident in his choice. Makes him feel perhaps not nearly as selfish as he knows he is being. Death is coming for him. There will be pain and then nothing. He doesn’t care though. Because he’ll be with Clarke when she does come into the lab. Because he’s confident she’ll manage that. They once depended on one another to live, and now, they’ll lean on one another as they die. 

It’s fitting, somehow. 

He finishes shutting the door. Raven presses her palm against the window for a moment, and he puts his own on it as well. But time’s running out. So, he steps away. Turns his back, so he won’t have to face them as he lets them down. As he chooses death over keeping them alive. Maybe he also turns around because he’s afraid that they won’t actually go if they have to look at him as they do it. He doesn’t think he deserves that kind of loyalty, but he knows he might have it regardless. 

It only takes a couple of seconds, and then they’re gone, and he’s alone. Waiting. He feels it as the radiation poisoning starts to set it in. He collapses to the floor and leans against a wall. Is certain that he’s dying, as the pains set in. He throws up and would be disgusted by it but he’s feeling too weak to care. Bellamy hates the thought that he won’t be conscious when Clarke comes in. That he won’t get to tell her that he’s always needed her. That he won’t comfort her as they slip into nothingness (any kind of belief in an afterlife has long since been destroyed). But he can’t fight it. 

As he vaguely hears coughing and boots hitting the floor, though it’s not enough to stir him, he passes out. But he swears before he does, he sees a bit of green and blonde hair. 

* * *

Clarke’s fight is over. She’s absolutely sure of this, even as she races to the lab. Part of herself tells her to give up. To lie down and accept her death. There’s only delaying the inevitable. But something in her makes her keep going. Long after the rocket’s taken off. After her friends have left her alone on a dying planet. Even as she feels her skin prickle and then explode with the pain from radiation burns, Clarke keeps running. Fighting for a life that’s already being ripped away from her. Because, honestly, she doesn’t know if she’s ever known how to stop. The fighting. 

Maybe it will be peaceful, she thinks, as her chest heaves and muscles scream out in protest. Death. It might be nice to stop. To not have to do it anymore. For a second, she really does think about halting in her place. Lying down on the ground, and waiting for the fire and darkness. 

She doesn’t, though she can’t even say why. Instead, she keeps running. 

Clarke bursts into the lab and runs into a table, grabbing hold of it to keep herself from falling to the floor. Nearly passes out right there. But then she sees him. 

_Bellamy._

She can’t believe it. Her mind is playing a trick on her. Or maybe it’s one last reprieve. A gift. Her brain deciding that she doesn’t have to die alone. At least, in her imagination. 

No, she realizes, to her utmost horror as she stumbles over to him. He groans. She feels his forehead, burning hot and streaked with sweat. She jostles him but he doesn’t wake up. But he’s still alive. He’s real. He’s here. She chokes on a sob. He chose to stay. To die with her. 

He chose her. 

An idiot. He’s the biggest fucking idiot she’s ever come across. She curses him out, though he can’t hear her. How could he? Didn’t he understand her words before? He was meant to use his head! And this...She shakes her head. This is all heart. All Bellamy. Of course, he did this. She shouldn’t be surprised, and she isn’t, not really. But she’s still _so_ angry. He was supposed to be safe in space. Not down on the ground, dying by her side.

There isn’t much time. If he’s going to have a chance, she has to act as fast as possible. She has to save him. Though she can hardly believe it, Clarke knows that the reason she’s not dead right now is that the nightblood must’ve worked. Somehow. Some miracle, she would say, if she still believed in those. Though her hands and face are on fire, she tears off her suit. There’s a syringe on the table she fell against, and she grabs that too. 

“Please work,” she mutters to herself as she extracts some of her blood, now black. It takes too long, she thinks, but she can’t rush it or she won’t do it right. Not with the burns on her hands keeping her barely able to grasp onto anything. 

“Just work, please,” she repeats, over and over, as she injects Bellamy with the nightblood. He’s hotter than before, and she knows his body can’t take much more radiation before it shuts down completely.

Once she’s done, all she can do is hope that it worked. For both of them. 

Then, she starts to do something she’s never done in her life. She prays. To what or who she doesn’t know. She doesn’t think she believes in that kind of thing. But she’s desperate. Bellamy can’t die. She can’t lose him. There cannot be a world in which she is meant to live without him. Without the hope he’s always given her when she needed it most. So, she begs for his life as the nightblood in her own veins continues to fight for hers. 

“If I’ve ever done anything good, please,” she sobs and breaks down, all of the fight going out of her. “Please let him live. I’ll do anything. Just don’t let him die. Not now. Not when I still need him. I know I don’t deserve it, but I _need_ him.”

It’s selfish, this ask. She hasn’t been in the business of being selfish. Not since she lost Lexa and learned what that got her. The price Lexa paid for it. But now, for Bellamy, she will be demanding and selfish and hope for maybe one last miracle. 

Clarke knows she doesn’t have much longer until she passes out, too. And then there will be nothing she can do for either one of them. But she tried with the nightblood and she’s pleading and she’s worried it’s still not enough. Really, she’s convinced it most certainly isn’t enough. 

Even the pain of that, the possibility of the suffering she will endure if she wakes up and he’s gone, is not enough to keep her awake. 

She props herself up beside him. One last craving to be near him, to feel comforted by his presence. Even though he doesn’t know she’s there. And then she quickly slips into unconsciousness. 

* * *

Raven stares down at the burning Earth below her. She’s always loved the stars and thought that looking out at them would give her comfort. But all she can think about is how Bellamy and Clarke died for them. For her. 

As much as she knows he’d hate it, she’s pissed at herself for letting Bellamy stay. The look in his eyes and the way his voice strained convinced her there would be no disagreeing. Now that she’s left with the choice though, she feels sick. She looks down at the bottle in her hands. She won’t be like her mother, she decides. Will not give in and drink herself into a stupor to hide from her pain and decision to leave them to die. Instead, she will do what they would’ve. She’ll keep everyone alive. 

Footsteps echo through the small space and she dries her eyes. The last thing she needs is to worry Harper or Monty, make Jasper start crying in return, or deal with the discomfort of Echo. 

“Don’t jump,” Murphy deadpans as he sidles up beside her. 

She rolls her eyes but knows her face is probably splotchy from her cry fest. It annoys her and pisses her off. Of course, it had to be Murphy who sees her like this. 

“You know you got this, right?” he asks. 

Raven stiffens. “I know.”

He snorts. “I was betting you’d say something like that.” 

He picks up the bottle she set down and examines it. “Think Monty will actually pull through with the algae moonshine?”

Glaring, she tells him, “You would be worried about the booze supply.”

Shrugging, he just replies, “Like you expected anything else. Besides, you really want to go through the next five years sober? With this lot?”

She laughs, despite herself. “Okay, so maybe some alcohol will help.”

“Some?” He laughs too, though it’s a bit drier than her own. “I’m gonna ask Monty to make a whole still.”

She shakes her head. “That would be your ‘contribution’ to us.”

Murphy smirks. “I live to serve my people.”

Rolling her eyes, she’s thinking of some kind of retort, but before a good one comes to mind, he adds, “They’ll listen to you. So, you gotta listen to them too. But only when they’re not being idiots. Which will be maybe five percent of the time, so you should be solid for a while.”

“Murphy—” she starts, but doesn’t know what she wants to say. What she even _could_ say. 

“Let me say this mushy bullshit and then you can go back to mocking me, alright?” She wants to protest, but swallows and lets him go on. “If you need someone to scream at or bitch with or whatever, you can come at me.”

“What makes you so special?” she asks after a minute. 

He grins. “I’ll have you know I’m immensely special when it comes to certain areas.”

“Gross,” she fires back. 

He quirks a brow and doesn’t even bother looking annoyed. 

“But thank you,” she manages to get out, sobering if only a little. She really does mean the words, she thinks. Which is nothing short of shocking. Raven clears the severity of it away by saying, “It’ll be nice to be able to make fun of you at all times without having to feel bad about it.”

“Like you do now?” He’s playing along to reduce the tension of the moment. She appreciates it, which is also a weird feeling. 

“Whatever,” she dismisses. “You want to be my number two, just admit it.”

“No way,” he replies. “Just your personal punching bag.”

She gives him a smile, all teeth. “Even better.” 

Silence settles between them then, and while she expects it to be awkward, it isn’t. For some reason that she doesn’t care to think about. Not now, not when she has to come up with a way to keep them all alive for the next five years. To make sure Bellamy and Clarke didn’t die in vain. 

She and Murphy continue to stare out of the window in silence, and gradually, they move closer. Until they’re almost touching, but not quite. The thought occurs to her that one day, she hopes against all logical thought, that they really will meet again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading ❤︎
> 
> find me on tumblr (@animmortalist)
> 
> [find the playlist here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SORERZx9FcmNvkAywWP1E?si=tlRz6SOSScK9e8ChT58H2Q)


	2. All Heavenfaced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, loves. here's the first *official* chapter of the fic. this one deals with the aftermath of Bellamy and Clarke's recovery, and also explores how Raven's feeling as a leader...and how hard everything is for each of them. 
> 
> I am so beyond grateful for the response to the prelude, and really, can't thank you all enough for the feedback. 
> 
> *chapter title is from 'Heavenfaced' by The National*
> 
> sending all the love and good thoughts to you 💞💞💞

Bellamy feels nothing but red hot flashes of pain all over his body, and he finds himself thinking, _this must be Hell_. 

Then he grimaces from it and doubles over, placing his palms on a floor beneath him. Eyes still shut. He feels the radiation burns, but even then, he doesn’t think he’s alive. He swallows. Takes a breath. Takes another. And then he opens his eyes.

When he sees Clarke, he knows he isn’t in Hell. Because she wouldn’t be there with him. Even if they both went there, he’s absolutely sure they wouldn’t be allowed to see one another. The thought doesn’t even make sense, really, but it lingers, even as he understands, somehow, that he’s alive. He isn’t sure how Hell’s supposed to work. Or if he even believes in it, really. He wonders if the radiation got to his mind, and if these fractured thoughts are now permanent. If they are, poor Clarke. 

Avoiding the sick beside him, which now that he’s conscious and seemingly not dying, he can be grossed out by, even though it’s his own, he half-crawls the small distance to her. 

Trying to reach out to touch her, he falters and gasps in pain. And then everything goes black. 

When Bellamy finally opens his eyes once more, his body still screaming for relief, she hasn’t moved, passed out. Her own burns make his itch and flare hotter just by looking at them. He reaches out again, and thankfully, this time, he’s able to follow through. With a shaky hand, he touches her shoulder. 

For a moment, she is very still, and Bellamy doesn’t think he breathes. 

But then he sees her take a weighty breath. And another one. He watches her take air in and out for who knows how long. Until he’s sure.

It takes him ages to be able to move around more, testing his limits, trying to stand. He collapses and loses consciousness again during the third try. But when his eyes open again in the beading lights on the lab, he knows he can’t keep passing out like this. 

He checks Clarke’s pulse this time. Still there. Faint and not nearly as steady as he’d like it to be, as he knows it should be, but still there. That’s all he can hope for, at this point. 

A dreadful realization hits him of what life would be like if he woke up and she wasn’t alive. He saw the syringe sometime during his attempts to stand, so he knows, in some miraculous way that only Clarke could, she managed to inject him with nightblood before she passed out from her pain. She risked herself to keep him alive, and while he knows she’d reprimand him for thinking it, he feels guilty that she had to. 

The very idea that she would manage to save him only to die herself...It makes him want to throw up again. But he chokes all those emotions down. He’s got to listen to Clarke’s advice if they’re going to survive. Not, as she intended, up on the Ring. But on a scorched planet, with her. If they’re going to recover and make it back to the bunker, he needs to use his head. Even as every sane thought in his mind tells him to lie down and go to sleep. 

Despite having all of that in mind, his body won’t cooperate with how fast he wants it to move. It barely allows any kind of movement at all. It takes what feels like hours, but finally, he’s able to stand by clawing at the table nearest to them. Unsteady, like a damn baby deer, he makes it a few feet before he has to sit down and rest. 

If Murphy was here, he’d laugh his ass off.

He wishes he was here, though the thought isn’t as surprising as it would’ve been a few months ago. He wishes they were all here. Not just to know if they’re alive, but so that there would be someone, anyone, to help make sure Clarke stayed alive, too. But Clarke was able to push through her blinding pain to inject him with nightblood, and he’s not about to let his own stop him from making sure it wasn’t worth something. Wasn’t worth both of their lives. 

Standing once more, he manages, somehow, to get to a supply closet. He’s almost scared to look inside. He doesn’t think he can make it to the kitchen to get water, and he knows that without it, they won’t last long. 

He asks himself, _What the fuck are you stalling for_? 

Opening the door with all of the strength he has left, he sees an assortment of things that might be helpful in days or weeks from now, but sure as hell won’t make his tongue stop feeling like sandpaper or his skin stop burning. He forces himself to inspect as much of it as he can. There’s no sign of water or medicine. Fuck. They’re going to die and it will all be because of him, because he wasn’t enough. Somehow, that’s the expected thought. He’s good at taking the blame, accepting it, holding it for others as well as himself. 

Before he can even properly string up enough curses that warrant the moment, pain flares hot up his back and his eyes drift shut. 

When he wakes up, he’s still clutching onto a shelf in the closet. 

He blinks, bleary-eyed. The lights are still on in the lab. He wonders how long that will last. Maybe forever. Maybe it won’t matter because he and Clarke will be dead long before they have to face that fact all because he can’t even get off his ass long enough to find water and medicine. 

Well, that's one cheerful thought. 

Bellamy pushes past it. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. “Get your _shit together_.”

And though it isn’t rousing words of hope and determination, the kind Clarke said inspired people what feels like a hundred years ago, they’re enough for now. He finds some hidden away strength, and makes it to the kitchen connected to the lab. It must take him hours, he’s pretty sure. It’s pathetic, how weak he is, how aching and sore and how easy it would be to give up and accept the pain and not fight anymore. 

But Clarke. 

Clarke, who saved him. Clarke, who saved _everyone_. She has to live, and so Bellamy has to live. If only so that he can get her some damn water and treatment for her burns. He really, really wishes his limbs would do what he wants them to. Instead, once he finds water and what he hopes to some kind of higher power is the right kind of medicine for radiation burns, it takes him what seems like a lifetime to get back to her. 

When he does, her breath is a bit steadier than it was when he left her. Her skin is hot to the touch and he’s scared to hurt her even more than the world already has, but he doesn’t have a choice if he’s going to get the burn cream on. He starts with her hands, where the burns are the worst. The same ones that somehow made sure he became a nightblood, made sure he survived the destruction of the planet. 

As delicately as he can, he does a layer on her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. He remembers his hand on her shoulder and her placing her cheek over it. 

And then he told her to get some sleep even though it wasn’t really what he wanted to say and she went to Niylah instead and…

It’s best not to think about that kind of thing about his partner. His person, really. The girl who keeps him centered. 

(But he knows, alright? He fucking _knows_ but that won’t save Clarke’s life so he pointedly does not think about it.) 

Instead, he focuses on the task at hand, on keeping them alive. Because that’s easier, simpler, than facing anything else raging inside his head when he thinks about how he almost lost her. 

* * *

“FUCK YOU!” Jasper shouts at Echo, whose lip curls up in response.

“We should’ve left you with the others who chose to die,” she snarls. “The weak ones.”

Monty’s eyes rage with something Raven has never seen before. She knows he has anger. They all have anger, after all. But it’s day eleven and things have been steadily going to shit since day two. 

“How about you shut your mouth since it’s you we should’ve left behind,” Monty seethes. 

Harper looks half like she’s ready to restrain him and half like she’s going to be the one to throw the first punch at Echo. 

Echo opens her mouth to retort, but Raven beats her to it. 

“ _Enough_ ,” she says, tone as stern and menacing as she can manage on two hours of sleep. 

The Ring’s needed a lot of work, but everyone else has needed even more. For not the first time, she finds herself asking how Bellamy and Clarke did this. How they kept everyone moving, back at The Dropship and after. Over the past eleven days, she’s thought a lot about what she would ask them if she could. Or if they would think she’s doing a good job. Or if...She clears her throat and dismisses the thoughts before they can take over. There is no ‘if’s. Bellamy and Clarke are gone. Now, they just have her. She can do this. She has to. 

“Nothing is going to be accomplished by you tearing into each other.” Raven looks from Harper and Monty, to Jasper, to Echo. “I don’t give a shit if you don’t like each other, but we need each other to survive. So, go and cool down. And then when you’re ready to stop acting like _brats_ come back so I can give you shit to do.” 

For a moment no one speaks or moves, so she adds, “Got it?”

They scram, but not without some fanfare. Heated glares at each other, promises to come back to this at a different time. A muttered, “fucking trash panda,” from Jasper. But another fight doesn’t erupt. For once, they listen to her. 

She goes into her workspace to clear her head. If she doesn’t have a task in front of her, something to occupy her hands and her mind, she knows she’ll break down and maybe _cry_ and she’s not about to do that. It’s nice. The solitude. Up here, she doesn’t get it nearly as often as she’d like. 

Too busy assuring Monty that he’s doing great with the algae, despite the fact that his hands make it so slow-going she’s starting to get worried they might starve. Making sure Jasper’s never alone, because while Monty might’ve convinced him to come with them, she isn’t sure enough yet and she thinks everyone might break if he floats himself. Beginning to teach Emori how to help out around the Ring, not that she doesn’t appreciate that. Letting Harper know that there’s only so much she can bear, so Raven will bear it for her. That steely silence with Echo, trying her best to not wish it was Bellamy and Clarke in her place. 

All while keeping everyone from tearing out each other’s throats. 

It’s fucking _too much_. But she promised Bellamy that she would take care of them. That she would lead. And so, she does it. 

She’s still focused on trying to repair the damn radio, mostly in vain, so they might be able to contact the Bunker. Part of her doesn’t want it to work. Because then she’ll talk to Octavia and have to tell her that Bellamy...That Bellamy is...Raven clears her throat and swallows down the burning in it. The pain pricks at her eyes. 

At least she’s alone for this horrendously embarrassing moment. 

“Hey Caesar,” Murphy greets.

She contemplates throwing a wrench at him. 

“Seriously? Et tu, Brute?” she asks. 

He laughs and shrugs. “I promise, if everyone else tries to stab you, I won’t join in.” She raises a brow and he adds, “I’ll just watch.”

“Thanks.” Her tone dry, revealing an edge from the stress and grief and just trauma of being her. 

He saunters further into the room and starts picking things up at random, inspecting them before setting them down a couple inches away from where he left them. Getting his grubby hands all over her stuff. Probably doing it just because he knows it pisses her off. 

“The fuck do you want?” she gets out, clearing her throat again.

God. She doesn’t think she could take it if she loses it in front of Murphy. Not that he’d be any good at comforting her. Or even attempt to. The only person he knows how to do that with is Emori. 

But there was a time… _I don’t wanna die alone_ . Or something like that. She wishes she could remember the exact words, sometimes. She doesn’t know _why_ that is and she certainly knows there’s no use in trying to find an answer.

“You’re spacing out,” he observes. “Don’t tell me our oxygen is depleting. Because if you’re already going down, there’s absolutely no hope for Jasper.” He snorts. “Maybe that’d be what he wants, though.”

She glares at him and then goes back to her work. Without looking at him, she says, “You’re disgusting. Why would you say that about him? And no, idiot, our oxygen is not depleting. If it was, I would’ve already fixed it.”

“I’m not saying anything you haven’t already thought.” He leans against the workbench she’s managed to construct out of some piping and an old metal sheet that couldn’t be used for anything else. 

She shoves him off it and doesn’t dignify that with a response, hating that he’s right. That she’s thought about it far too much these eleven days. 

He smirks, triumphant in his minuscule win. “Knew it.”

“It doesn’t...It doesn’t matter what I _think_ ,” she defends, “because I would never actually _say it_. Not like you.”

“And while you would never say it, you appreciate me saying it. Keeps you from thinking you’re a horrible menace who left two of her best friends to die only to fail to save everyone else, too.” 

He shrugs, as if this is a casual conversation, as if anything about this is funny or, at least, entertaining to him. Well, it isn’t and she hates him and she misses her few precious moments when she was alone and unbothered by his presence. 

Again, she wants to throw a wrench at him. Specifically, that annoying mouth of his. 

“Shouldn’t you be off annoying Emori?” she asks, shifting the topic away from Bellamy and Clarke because if she lets her thoughts settle on them for too long she knows the guilt will eat her alive until there’s nothing left. 

His face sours and she laughs. 

“Already trouble in paradise?” She shakes her head. 

That makes him ease up a little, with a snort, he replies, “Hardly. She’s just taking a nap in between rounds.” He winks. “I have that effect.”

Raven wrinkles her nose in disgust and shudders and that makes him bark out a laugh. But then he turns serious once more. She rolls her eyes. 

“You can tell me.” She coughs. “If only because I don’t need you sulking all over me while I’m trying to work.”

“We’re fine,” he responds, clearly defensive. She quirks a brow and he goes on after a moment, “It’s a stupid fight, really. It wasn’t even about _anything._ It’s just...I don’t know. Stress, I guess.”

She finds herself comforting him, somehow, though she would never admit it to anyone if they asked. Especially not him. “That makes sense, you must know that. I mean, we’re all falling apart a little.”

“That’s an understatement,” he deadpans.

She thinks the moment might stretch on, that he might open up to her about what exactly he means by that. But this is Murphy, and she should know better. Because while she doesn’t like it, she knows him. And maybe, _maybe_ he might know her a little, too. 

If only because he says a moment later, “What do you wanna bet that there’s an orgy on the Ring in less than a year?”

Raven picks up a screw and throws it at him. He dodges it and laughs. Just like that, the moment’s done. Popped like a balloon. Surprisingly, she finds she doesn’t mind it at all. Almost as if it’s exactly what she needed. 

She rolls her eyes but replies, “Obviously. I give it six months before we walk in on Monty, Jasper, and Harper.”

Murphy gags. “Can you imagine? The utter softness those three would exude?” He shakes his head. “No way, there’s gotta be at least one kinky person in there to make it work.”

“What makes you think Harper isn’t kinky?” 

Something like delight comes over Murphy’s face, and she simultaneously regrets this disturbing conversation while also enjoying it. 

“Do tell, Reyes.”

She scoffs. “Nothing to tell. I just know these things.”

He lifts his brows. “Because you’re a genius.”

Nodding, smug, she tells him, “Yep,” popping the ‘p’. 

Murphy looks at the door to the workspace and then back at her. What the hell he’s thinking, she doesn’t even try to figure out. It’s _Murphy_. He might be planning to take out everyone else on the Ring so he and Emori can fuck wherever they want. Not that they probably won’t end up doing that anyway.

“I should probably go grovel to her like a little bitch until she forgives me,” he says.

She grins. “Have fun with that.” 

Before he goes though, he turns around. “You’re doing a good job.”

It’s so unexpected she drops the piece of wire she was playing with before. Looking over at him, she narrows his eyes, trying to figure out if he’s playing her.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, okay?”

It’s weird. To the extent that she doesn’t know where to even begin forming a response. It’s what she needs and it isn’t all at the same time. Because she knows it isn’t the truth. She’s fucking up left, right, and center. Everyone is a mess and she isn’t doing as much as she should to fix it. There are cracks in the system and she can’t patch them all up fast enough before more appear. Bellamy and Clarke could do this. Bellamy and Clarke wouldn’t even bat an eye...Bellamy…Clarke...They’re dead. They’re dead and her friends have her instead and it’s so messed up she thinks she really might cry. 

She forces down her mess of emotions. “Murphy,” she says, and sticks out her chin. “You said you were with me? That you’d help me?”

“I do recall I said that, yes,” he replies. 

Calm, more collected than she previously was, she forces out, “Never fucking lie to me again.”

For a second, she thinks he might argue with her. But then he simply nods and agrees, “Okay.” 

She thinks that will be it, but instead, he continues, “It’s a disaster and you know it and I know it. And yeah, you’re not doing a job, alright? Is that what you want to hear? But Jesus, Raven, you’re doing what you can right now.”

She bites her lip so hard she thinks she’ll draw blood. “It’s not enough.”

“No shit,” he says. But then his expression softens, well, as much as she thinks he’s capable of it without a lobotomy, and tells her, “I’m here for you, okay? I said I would be, and I know I’m not...Well, I won’t go back on that, at least. I’m not gonna lie to you again. But you’re doing what you can, and for now, it’s enough.” 

Raven goes to protest but he holds up a hand. “It’s enough and if you try to argue with me, I swear to god I’ll hide half your work tools in weird places around here so you’ll be eating algae one day and will find a screwdriver in it.”

Unexpectedly, it’s _this_ that makes her laugh. For real. Who knows how long it’s been since this happened? Not just because it’s followed by a cutting remark or teasing or out of relief to be alive. It really isn’t even that funny. But she laughs. Murphy’s all too pleased, grinning in a way that’s smug and something else she doesn’t think she’s ever seen from him. Not as a reaction to her, at least.

He salutes her. “O’ Captain, My Captain.”

And then he’s gone, and she goes back to work and even though she doesn’t understand it at all and is actually pretty annoyed by it, she feels the smallest bit better. 

* * *

Clarke feels something soft underneath her fingers and she thinks she must be dead. She doesn’t have as inflated a sense of self to think she’s making it to Heaven. If that even exists, which, she doesn’t think so, not before the burns started searing themselves into her skin, at least. But maybe there’s an in-between kind of place. Maybe, after everything, she might deserve that. 

Then she opens her eyes and sees she’s in the room in Becca’s mansion. The same one she was in what feels like years ago. The downey blanket shifts a little as she sits up and looks around her, eyes adjusting to the soft light of the lamp on the bedside table. Slowly, it registers. 

She’s alive. Great. 

As soon as the thought plants itself, another comes sweeping through her. _Bellamy_. He isn’t in the room. And then panic seizes her. She doesn’t remember getting herself here, but she doesn’t know how long she was out for or what kind of mental state she was in. She could’ve gotten here herself.

And Bellamy could be...She swallows. Bellamy could be dead, inside the lab. Her last reprieve and begging useless. Her last actions to save him in vain. It threatens to destroy her, and she doesn’t know if she can face it. 

It takes her a minute to have the courage to know the truth, even with the possibility that he’s gone, and get out of the bed. Only a third of that time is because her body still aches all over. She feels her face for a moment. The burns are still there, of course. She examines her hands, and sees the burns aren’t as severe as she thought they were before. She squashes out the hope that rises in her chest because she knows they could’ve healed with time. There’s still no telling how long she was out of it.

With no small amount of effort, she makes her way out of the bedroom. In some part of her mind, she knows she hears someone else in the kitchen. She knows there’s only one person it could be. But it doesn’t fully hit her until she sees him there. Then she feels the air sucked out of her lungs and if he didn’t turn and see her and rush over to her, keeping her on her feet with a hand at her elbow, she’s sure she would’ve passed out again. 

“Clarke, you shouldn’t be out of bed,” he chastises, letting out a curse and giving her this stare that’s all concern and yet somehow also petulant annoyance. 

He’s got burns too, but they’re not nearly as bad as she thinks hers must be but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because he’s here and touching her and she doesn’t have to lose someone else. 

She grins and before she can even think about what she’s doing, she half-flings herself into his arms. It’s awkward, at first, because he still has a grip on her elbow. After a moment though, he reciprocates. Wrapped in his tight embrace, she nuzzles her face into his neck and it’s everything even though it’s not close enough but she’ll take it for now because _he’s alive_. 

“Bellamy, you’re alive,” she says against his shoulder, and she feels him nod, and it’s the best she’s felt in so long. 

Because for a second there, she thought her mind might be playing a trick on her. Showing her what she wants to see, what she needs to see. With his arms around her though, and clinging to him as if he might disappear if she lets go, she knows better. He’s here. He’s with her. She doesn’t have to face a world without him. 

If she did, she doesn’t think she would even know where to begin. Clarke doesn’t remember when Bellamy became so important. The exact moment when she realized she needs him. A piece of her wishes that she did, but now, looking back, she thinks it’s always been there, since they met. Even though she knows that isn’t the truth. But it makes it impossible for her to try and find when she knew that she couldn’t do this alone. The only thing that’s for certain is that she can’t live without him. 

Clarke holds onto him, and for once, she doesn’t worry about ever letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading ❤︎
> 
> find me on tumblr (@animmortalist)
> 
> [find the playlist here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SORERZx9FcmNvkAywWP1E?si=5O_SzqGpQreqFsUlmMlAbg)


	3. A Spark is Aching for the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, loves. here's an update for you. it deals with how everyone's surviving and while there are definitely some differences, there are some similarities in how they deal as well. it also ends on a bit of a cliffhanger so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> as always, feedback is so appreciated and loved, but please keep any hate to yourself. 
> 
> *chapter title is from 'Funeral Singers' by Sylvan Esso ft Collections of Colonies of Bees*
> 
> sending all of the love and good thoughts to you all 💞💞💞

The lab’s supplies start to dwindle, and that’s when Clarke knows her and Bellamy are in trouble. It’s still not safe to go outside. They test it everyday, carefully, because the first time she tried without telling him and got burns all over her hands. The simultaneously hurt and disappointed look on his face was enough to prevent her from attempting that again. She knows that, soon, they’ll run out of food, and then water, and then...She doesn’t even want to think about it. Because she’s been running the numbers, and there isn’t enough. Not for the amount of time she’s betting that they need. She remembers, in what feels like a lifetime ago, making a list. It didn’t work out then, either. Too many people.

Before she can stop it, another thought filters through the restraints she’s learned to put on her mind: _If I’m on that list, you’re on that list._

She thinks of Arkadia, of what they could’ve had. But then, the Bunker and the Ring are better. She had to say goodbye to her friends, yes, but at least it isn’t forever. At least she doesn’t have to live with their deaths on her conscience. But if conditions don’t improve, her and Bellamy might die trapped in this damn lab and...Well. At least everyone already thinks they’re dead. 

They count the days, because they need normalcy, she thinks. They need a reason to roam around the lab, looking for extra rations of food and water that she already knows isn’t there. But they’re also counting down the days, determining how many of them they have left before the rations run out. Before they start to starve and hope, the miraculous and unbelievable hope that she had when she realized both her and Bellamy survived the death wave, runs out. Slips through their grasp before they ever really had a chance. 

She wishes they had more time. It never seems to be enough. Even when they’re the only person the other has. Even when, really, there isn’t much to do but sit around and count supplies and worry. 

But then again, isn’t that always the case? She thought….When he put her name on the list that maybe...But then he’d dismissed her touch, what she figured was a clear suggestion, and she believed his reaction meant that he never wanted her like that. Or if he ever did, he certainly didn’t anymore.

It’s dangerous for Clarke to let her thoughts get to this place, but she can’t resist while she’s pretending to sleep like Bellamy’s pretending to on the couch in the main living space. She wonders if he’s staring at the ceiling like her, questioning everything. Thinking about time and how you can have so much of it and yet not enough.

“What are you doing?” she asks herself. She tosses onto her side and glares at a wall instead. Swallowing, she sighs. She knows exactly what she’s doing. 

Before she can stop herself, she remembers the very few times she has allowed herself to think about what would’ve happened if she’d kissed Bellamy on their first Unity Day on the ground. The way she wanted to, all heat and drunken fun, however fleeting it might’ve been. Nothing of what they are to each other now yet in it. She didn’t even have an idea yet, of how important he would become. How necessary. How much a part of her. 

She lies there and wonders if it would’ve led to and if they’d still be in this weird place now. Would he be in this bed, too? When she told him she didn’t mind sharing, he brushed it off and refused, arguing that the couch was just as comfortable. The lie apparent to both of them. Clarke realizes she should’ve called him out on it. Maybe...No. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want her. But, some part of her protests, she should’ve called him on a lot of things. 

He should’ve called her on just as many. Maybe that’s what works for them, she supposes. That this is how they function, how they’ve wrapped themselves around one another. Part of her knows though. 

It’s bullshit. 

There’s no point thinking about that kind of thing though. Of maybes and what ifs and imaginary alternative lives. Not when she knows it won’t lead anywhere but pain and disappointment and possibly heartbreak. Because Clarke knows, she isn’t enough and never will be and she’ll probably just get him killed. After all, she nearly has already. 

She doesn’t want to face that. It hurts too much. Makes her think of wistful fantasies of the future and past and the present she will never get the chance to have. Clarke is scared of those feelings, and pushes them down, down, down. Deep where she doesn’t confront them or even think about them. Besides, she needs to focus on keeping them alive, on finding a way to make their rations last, one making sure they make their way out of this damn lab. 

She rolls onto her back, hoping her mind will leave her be. It doesn’t, of course. And when she leaves her room just after light, Bellamy’s already awake. 

“I think we’re gonna have to reduce our rations even more,” he tells her during the morning of their twenty-seventh day.

She nods, expecting this. “I know.” She presses her lips together and runs through the numbers quickly in her mind. “I’ve been calculating. I think we have to reduce our rations to maybe a third or even half...Which would mean we’d only be eating once a day.”

He grimaces. “I was figuring you’d say that. Not that I...I was hoping you wouldn’t be thinking the same thing I was.”

She almost laughs. Not that it’s even funny in the smallest sense. She might wish she didn’t even acknowledge the truth. But then he makes her feel better. Somehow, he manages to make even the impossible feel within her reach with him by her side. Clarke knows that this has always been the case. That there’s someone special about Bellamy. She doesn’t want to think about what exactly that is, not in the light of day and him looking at her. Because she’s sure that if she did, she would never stop. That it would consume her entirely. 

What she does wish for is that she could be someone different, someone who could give her heart away with ease, the way she hasn’t been able to do in so long, the way that every time she’s opened herself even a little, it’s only come back to bite her in the ass.

But they’re just that. Wishes. They won’t do her any good and they certainly won’t make either one of their survival any less difficult. 

That night, she dreams of dead children and Maya and Jasper and how he probably hates her and how he intended to die hating her. Thank you, Monty, she thinks. She knows it’s unlikely that Jasper will ever be what he once was to her, but there’s a chance, maybe, one day, he might not despise her. And even if he does, him simply being alive is worth it. 

Clarke’s own screaming wakes her, thrashing around amongst the thick comforter, desperate to cling onto something real. Something to ground her. She twists in the dark, gasping for air. In. Out. In. Out. But she can’t get enough at once, and even in her state, can hear how ragged her breath sounds. There’s nothing to hold onto though. Just darkness and death and the _smell_ and pulling a goddamn lever. Suddenly though, there is something grip onto. Someone.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says. “Clarke, it’s okay. It was a nightmare. It’s okay. You’re awake.”

She gasps and knows Bellamy’s got his arms wrapped around her but it’s so close and not enough and so she clings even tighter until she moves and she’s basically in his lap. There’s no room for her to feel awkward about it. Though she should. She really, really should. She blocks that out though and buries her head into the crook of his neck and he smoothes a hand down her back and whispers words of comfort she knows she won’t remember later. It doesn’t matter. What does is that he’s here and she's so thankful that he is because she isn’t sure how’d she do it if she was alone. She knows she’d be able to survive, but it’s _this_. The staying sane part. That’s how she needs him most. 

When they part, her breathing back to normal, she can feel he’s holding in some kind of tension or she actually might be, too, because of their precarious position. Clarke finds some sheepishness left deep inside her, some ability to feel shame and embarrassment. Her cheeks heat up and she’s thankful for the still dark room. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

Then shakes his head, as if scolding himself. She gets it. Since when has either one of them been okay since they touched down on Earth? Since before, even? She absolutely hates the thought that he needs to chastise himself for it though, and wants to comfort him in turn. She rubs his arm before she realizes she’s still half in his lap, and shifts a little to land back down on the mattress. 

“I didn’t…” He swallows. “Is it better, now?”

With all the strength she can muster at the moment, she nods and hates how weak she is and God what if he was actually sleeping and she disturbed it and he really needs his sleep and…

Clarke hasn’t realized she’s saying all of this out loud until Bellamy tells her, “It’s alright, really. I want...If you need me, I’m here for you. I want to do that.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but he beats her to it. “You didn’t wake me up, okay? Like you didn’t already know I haven’t been sleeping either, and even if you did, I wouldn’t have cared because you were upset. You needed someone.” He sighs and keeps on, “It’s...Hell, I didn’t know when I chose to stay that I was choosing _all of this_ but we have to be able to rely on each other if we’re gonna make it these five years. Together, okay? So, stop worrying about my sleep when you’re the one who had the nightmare.”

“Okay,” she lets out, knowing it’s useless to protest. Not when he’s this stubborn. She should know since she’s been just as resolute in the past. 

“But,” she bites her lip for a moment, afraid to ask. 

He frowns a little, which she can see properly now that her eyes have adjusted to the dark. “What is it?”

Even before she says it, she tries to psyche herself out. Convince herself that she’s the last person who deserves what she wants to ask. After everything she’s done, sometimes, she pretends she does deserve happiness or comfort. But she knows herself better. She shakes her head and goes to dismiss it. Say it’s nothing. Of course, Bellamy isn’t willing to have that at all. 

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. Or ask me. Or…” 

He reaches out and takes one of her hands in his and she realizes then how much she missed the contact, no matter how brief the separation was, really, only a few moments. It’s more than a little pathetic, on her part. 

She knows the words that go without him saying, hears them almost better than if he actually spoke them. Words of telling her she’s worth it, that she gets to ask for things, even when she thinks (or knows) she doesn’t. Even in her head, Bellamy doesn’t let her beat herself down as much as she’d like, in some weird, masochistic way. In a way she knows only he really understands, as much as she wishes someone else would, too. If only so he could have someone better than her. 

For now, though, they only have each other. Clarke’s so tired and emotionally drained and hungry, she finds she can’t fight off the desire for long. She wants what he can give her, what he seems willing to give her. She’s meant to be stronger than this. No, she _should_ be stronger than this. But again, the tiredness, the being drained, the hunger. It’s all too much at once and she can’t stop herself from asking the question. 

“Will you stay with me?” She coughs and clears her throat. “Just to sleep, I mean. Just to...Make it so we don’t have to be alone.”

He doesn’t seem to know what to make of the question or her explanation of what she means, let alone intend on answering it. 

So, she backtracks almost immediately, feeling even more shame than before that makes her trip over her words. Clumsy. Like she’s never even talked to him before and suddenly is asking so much and too much and...She doesn’t deserve this, she’s sure of it. 

“I didn’t mean to pressure you. I...I was just thinking maybe we could sleep better in the same room and it’s maybe not exactly perfect but I thought it could help. I mean, I think it would help me but if you think it wouldn’t do the same then…” she trails off, no idea how or even what kind of ending she wants to attach to the mess of words. 

“I will,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

“You really don’t have to.”

Part of her thinks he’s only offering for her, and not because it will help him. She can’t have that. Not when he risked everything to stay behind with her. Not when he _sacrificed_ everything. Years of peace with friends. Now, instead, he gets her. Asking things he can’t or doesn’t want to give. She’s an awful friend. 

“Clarke.” He huffs, impatient and yet so soft it hurts. “I want to. I think it’ll be good for me, too. And I know you’re gonna come up with about a hundred excuses of why you don’t need me to, so just know I’m prepared to knock every single one of them down like the load of crap they are.”

She hesitates before allowing a hint of a smile. “I guess...That’s okay.” Nodding, more sure, she adds, “I’m a horrible sleeper, I have to warn you.”

He rolls his eyes and returns her smile with an equally small one of his own. “Lucky me,” he jokes and it makes everything so much lighter and better and easier to navigate. 

They don’t talk about how they’re going to do it or if there’s rules they should put in place. Neither one of them acknowledges it, but it feels like if they did, the moment would pop between them and disappear and they’d pretend it never happened. She knows this because...Well, it’s happened before, hasn’t it? More times than she knows is good for either one of them. But she can’t change the past, she can just hope for some kind of better future, and she knows that having Bellamy beside her in this bed is a step in that direction. Even if it might be fleeting or stupid or a million other things that gives them a reason to not do this. 

Silently, Clarke moves over and almost to the other side of the bed, but not quite. Probably not as much as she should, really. He doesn’t complain though, just gets in next to her.

For a while, they lie there and stare at the ceiling and it’s so weird she might die because a piece of her knows _why_ but can’t let herself think about that for too long. 

In the end, it’s her who breaks. 

“Bellamy…Can you?” 

She adjusts herself on the bed and moves closer to him. A request without words, this time. She doesn’t know if she could ever actually speak them. Too dangerous. Plus, she knows, if she did, her voice would give her away. Luckily, he accepts this, doesn’t push for more or even ask what she means, because he already knows. At least, he knows that it’s best not to ask. She can tell, even in the dark and quiet of the waning night. 

“Of course,” he whispers.

Then he waits for her to position herself, giving her the room to do this how she’s most comfortable. She wishes she could ask him the same, but he seems willing to do this her way, and for now, she’s too exhausted to protest. The whole thing is still so strange but it’s also right in a way she understands, in some hidden part of her mind, they both want it. 

Turning on her side, she holds her breath for a second when he doesn’t move any closer to her. Just as she’s thinking she’s made a mistake and has asked too much of him, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her against him. She relaxes immediately into the touch. As if they’ve done this every night since they met. 

Clarke can’t even say exactly when she falls asleep. Just that she does, and it’s the best she’s had in so long. In too long.

* * *

Echo and Emori are ready to throw down like they’re in some cage match he used to watch late at night on the Ark as a kid, long after his mom passed out, if she was even at their small apartment to begin with. He wants to walk away, pretend he doesn’t see it. Or accept his place as not being a part of it. But then Emori calls Echo a traitorous bitch and Echo in turn gets right up in Emori’s space and he knows he can’t. He made a fucking promise to Raven and really, he should make sure Emori doesn’t get stabbed. Not that she probably wouldn’t just wack Echo with a chair and walk it off, but still. He’s got principles, now, apparently. 

No one else has the balls to do anything. Jasper lounges on the couch in the corner of the room, a cavalier expression across his face. Harper grips onto Monty’s arm. He just got back from over three hours of working on the algae, which still tastes like absolute dog shit even with all his ‘improvements’. Raven’s working on a dire problem with the water filtering system, and he doesn’t want to drag her into this when she’s already lost who knows how much sleep in the past two days trying to fix the issue. 

So, he gets right in between them. Which neither one of them care for in the least.

“John, get out of my way,” Emori seethes. 

“Nope,” he replies, trying to keep his voice casual even while his body’s all tense.

“This does not concern you,” Echo says.

He gives her a lazy grin. “I think it does, since, you know, you’re trying to murder my girl and all.”

Apparently, Emori is not swayed by his words. Or charmed by them. Which is kind of tragic for him, honestly. He’s only ever charming with her. “ _John_. Get. Out.” She looks sort of disgusted with herself to add to it, but does nonetheless. “She’s right. This isn’t your business. Let us settle this.”

Echo smirks and Murphy knows he _definitely_ can’t let that happen. They depend on each other to survive, and one of them ending up injured or dead definitely doesn’t fit into the happy family times Raven seems to think they’re going to need. Moreover, he’s not even positive who would win in a fight between them. Echo’s got the sword and the spy moves, sure, but Emori’s _Emori_. Definitely a split divide. If this was any other situation, he’d probably start making a bet over who would win. 

He shakes his head. “You’re not thinking.” He looks between them. “Neither one of you are. You’re just pissed off, which, really? Do you think that makes you unique in this situation?”  
  


“Easy for you to tell us we’re not the ones thinking our actions through.” The rage behind Echo’s eyes burns cool, and he narrows his own. Even if she is a little scary, he can admit, he’s not about to back down and give her an opening. He and Emori have been fighting a lot since they came up here, sure, but he’s gonna protect her, without hesitation. 

“Shut the hell up,” Emori snaps. “You’re just like every _Azgeda_ I ever heard about. Arrogant killers without remorse.” She scoffs. “Too bad it was that same arrogance that got your precious queen killed.”

Echo snarls and moves forward, but before she can properly lunge, Murphy shoves her back. She isn’t expecting it, but recovers quickly enough. Still, if there was rage before, it’s nothing compared to how she looks at him now. 

“You do not want to involve yourself in this,” Echo says.

Murphy raises his brows. “Oh, really? Cause I’m pretty fucking positive I do.” He stares her down and goes on, “Is this how you wanna prove yourself? By trying to kill one of the people who let you come with us? Because if that’s your grand plan of survival on this hunk of metal, please, try me. But I can promise, even if you win, you won’t be around long enough to bask in it.”

He knows she doesn’t want to listen to him, but he’s also aware that Echo is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. She’s calculating, and understands when it’s best to wait and figure out a different path. He doesn’t respect her, really, but he sees it in her eyes when she decides to give in. If he’s a little smug in his expression, well, so be it. 

“Fine,” she spits out. “But I can promise you this, you think you have done a lot more here than you actually have.”

He nods. “Whatever you gotta tell yourself.”

Echo seems like she wants to say more. Or, more likely, make him into a Cockroach shish kebob, but she doesn’t. Instead, she stalks off with one more flick of her eyes at Emori. 

If he thought things would diffuse a little after that, he should’ve known better. 

“What the fuck?” Emori demands as soon as Echo is out of sight (and he hopes, in vain, maybe, out of earshot, too). 

He frowns. “You’ve gotta elaborate, sweetheart.”

Emori shakes her head and looks away from him, glaring at a wall. Still not looking at him, she replies, “You really don’t get it, do you? You were out of line intervening like that. I had it handled! And you just…” She sucks on her teeth. “You made me look weak.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asks, really not believing what he’s hearing, even though, yeah, he gets it. He does. It makes sense in a way that might not even be healthy for two people, especially for two people in a relationship. He understands why Emori’s pissed, but now he’s pissed too. 

“Because as far as I’m concerned, I just helped save your ass. And Echo’s ass.” Murphy gestures to the corner of the room with a hand. “And possibly _Jasper’s_ ass, because god knows if anyone’s gonna throw a failed punch at Echo only to hurt themselves in the process, it’s him. So, really, you should be thanking me.”

“I resent that,” Jasper says from the couch.

God help them all. Monty’s algae moonshine worked. He’s wasted. 

Monty shoots a questioning look at Jasper. 

“What?” Jasper snaps. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Harper purses her lips together. “It doesn’t feel like you are though, does it?”

Monty stiffens but Emori huffs out, “And who’s fault is that? Who made him come up here?”

Monty goes to reply but Murphy cuts in, trying desperately to keep the situation (and maybe the anger, too) trained on him. It seems easier for that to be the case, and it might be the reason he got between Echo and Emori in the first place. 

Besides, the last thing they need is for Emori and Monty to get into a fight. Which would probably turn into Harper fighting in Monty’s honor. Which would be...Not a great way to spend their already joyous afternoon together. 

“Back to me,” Murphy points to himself, “and where is my, ‘Wow, Murphy, you sure did a good job of making sure we didn’t paint the freaking room red with our blood! Thanks so much, you’re so good to me’?”

“Like actual hell,” Emori responds, and he knows it’s useless, and doesn’t actually want to fight yet again, and he deflates. 

“Whatever,” he tells her. “I’m not sorry I defended your neck. Be pissed about your pride all you want, just don’t go fighting Echo about it.”

“Fine.” Emori glares at him. “As long you know you’re not welcome to our room tonight.”

He works his jaw. “Just exactly what I was about to suggest.”

“ _Great_ ,” she says. “The time alone will give me the perfect opportunity to think about what an ass you are.”

And then she storms off, too. 

He stares at Jasper, then Monty, then Harper. “Are you three gonna start a free-for-all winner takes all fight or can I go be alone?”

Only Monty seems to feel the least bit sheepish. Harper cools down after only a moment though. 

“We’re okay,” she tells him.

He snorts. “Amazing. Let me know if there’s another crisis. I’ll do my best to fake some winning optimism next time.” Fortunately, no one replies to that. 

Before he even knows where he’s going, he finds himself arriving outside of Raven’s workspace. He raps his knuckles on the closed door. 

“If it’s Jasper playing another _prank_ I’m going to—” she starts as she opens the door. Her eyes settle over him, and is it just his imagination or does she seem a little relieved? But given their other company, he can’t say he blames her. “Oh,” finishes. 

“Nice to see you too,” he greets, sliding through the gap into the room without bothering to ask for permission.

He looks around. It appears the same as it has for the last couple of weeks they’ve been up here. He discovers he’s been spending more time in here, with Raven, stewing over crap and making plans and trying to make sure she has someone to rant to about everything, than he ever thought would be possible. 

“Fuck having principles, for the record,” he says as he slumps into the chair beside her own, where he notices she must’ve moved on from the water filtering problem and had been fiddling with the radio. 

She really does love a hopeless cause. 

Raven stares at him, annoyed, for a moment, before she admits defeat like always and nearly collapses against her desk, putting her head in her hands. He pokes at her chair with his foot, moving it a fraction. She looks up and glares at him. 

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, partnership.” He grins. “You think Bellamy and Clarke told each other ‘fuck you’ with that amount of affection.”

Raven hesitates, but ultimately decides to play along. “Please, if Clarke ever said ‘fuck you’ directly to Bellamy’s face his brain would short circuit, and we’d know.”

Murphy blows out a breath. “You’re right, though I’d put algae moonshine on the table betting that she said it behind his back.” 

Once he starts talking about them, he can’t seem to stop, though he knows he should. He knows that everyone is definitely Not Talking about the both of them. But for some reason, he feels like he can with Raven. 

“Did you know Bellamy once said he’d even cut off her hand to get her bracelet off back at The Dropship, before the Ark came down?” Murphy shrugs. “And then like hours later he was saving her life.” 

For a while, Raven says nothing, and when she does, it isn’t much, “Idiot.”

Murphy shakes his head. “Remember how Clarke was the one who told Jaha we were all alive because of Bellamy so he would pardon him? And all of that shit was like, within the first two weeks.”

Raven rolls her eyes and clarifies, “ _Idiots_.”

He hates to think it, but he can’t help but be sad as the memories settle over both of them. The thoughts of what the two of them went through. What they did for everyone else and then to each other and ultimately for each other. 

A long silence stretches between them, and it should be awkward. Murphy doesn’t care for silences, usually. He feels a need to fill them. Even if it’s by being a little shit or setting someone off or leaving the room with a biting remark because he’d rather be alone in quiet than with someone else. With Raven though, it doesn’t seem too bad. Maybe still tense in a way that makes him want to crack a joke, but not awful. 

He does go to make said joke, one he’s still coming up with even as he opens his mouth, when Raven beats him in disrupting the moment. 

“Leading is fucking hard.”

“No shit,” he fires back, nonchalant.

She huffs. “I just...I wish I got it, before...Before they…” She swallows.

This is usually the place where he flees. Instead though, he waits a while, and offers up, “Me too, I guess.”

She goes to say something else, but is cut off. Not by Murphy or anyone else bursting into the room to tell on someone like they’re five (which has happened more times than he can count). It’s just static, at first. Coming from the radio.

Raven’s hands go to it and immediately begin flipping switches and twisting wire. She tries for precious minutes and still, nothing happens. Curses fly in a hushed tone from her mouth. 

“What can I do?” he asks. 

He figures she’ll say nothing and to leave her alone, but she doesn’t, and instead, gives him a task of tying some wires together. Whether it’s real or just something to keep him occupied so she can actually work, he isn’t sure. 

Then, for a brief moment of clarity, they hear a snort. “Big Brother, Miller says ‘hi’ and he won’t stop pestering me until I tell you. Even though according to one of the people from GoSci this radio probably doesn’t even _work_.”

It cuts out, and Murphy asks, “You heard that, right?”

He isn’t above thinking the recent lack of water might be making them all hear shit. 

“I’m scared,” that steady voice comes through again. “But I promise, I’ll make you proud. I’ll keep them alive.”

It cuts out again and then only a couple words fall through. Things like “hungry” and “fights” and “Clarke” which almost makes Murphy laugh. But as quickly as the radio comes to life, it fizzles out. Both of them are left with only the memory of it, and something that feels a little too much like happiness for his taste. 

They both look at one another, shock written all over her face in a way that surely mirrors his own. 

“ _Octavia_ ,” Raven breathes out and her eyes go to the now silent radio. “We can talk to Octavia.”

If the look in her eyes is any indication, Murphy’s positive she won’t stop or sleep or eat until they do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading ❤︎
> 
> find me on tumblr (@animmortalist)
> 
> [find the playlist here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SORERZx9FcmNvkAywWP1E?si=I2hcR-QeQzmZLqmacOMvxA)


	4. a Vial of Hope and a Vial of Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, loves!! here's an update for you and I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you like it!
> 
> this one has Clarke and Bellamy surviving, despite it all, and leads to an almost pivotal moment for them. meanwhile, Raven's doing the best she can in light of the radio from Octavia and also everyone still struggling to adjust to life on the Ring. 
> 
> as always, feedback is so appreciated, but please refrain from any hate. I do want to thank you all for the reception to this fic so far, it really means the world to me and keeps me writing, you're the absolute best. 
> 
> *chapter title is from 'Neon Bible' by Arcade Fire*
> 
> sending all the love and good thoughts your way 💞💞💞

They’re running out of supplies, but Bellamy knows why they don’t talk about it, why Clarke doesn’t want to talk about it. So, he lets it go. Even as he watches her not eat or drink enough and worry fills up his whole body until he almost insists she take some of his. He knows she’d never go for that, as much as he wishes she would. 

They find ways of distracting themselves. Becca has a whole library of books and movies and ways for them to pass the time. Clarke mandates that they watch a movie over their dinner, the one meal they’re eating, to help them spread out the limited rations. Her taste in them is questionable, but there are recorded sports’ events, too and Bellamy finds out she’s an aggressive hockey fan, and he is, surprisingly, as well. He wonders out loud one night if they would’ve met each other back on Earth, if A.L.I.E. had never happened. If maybe it could’ve been at a game, or something. Clarke gives him this look that he thinks must be the kindest kind of disbelief and he knows he’s foolish for even saying it, so he dismisses it before she can. 

They play board games and read and do almost anything that doesn’t expel too much energy. It goes on like this for almost two weeks. If he can ignore the hunger pains and the way their water is getting low, he can almost enjoy himself. 

One night, after their abysmal dinner, he’s pretending he doesn’t feel hungry by reading one of Becca's books called _A Midsummer’s Night Dream._ He’s just reached the part where Bottom’s head gets turned into one of an ass when he hears music. Blasting from the kitchen. 

“Clarke?” he calls out. 

They’ve listened to some music recently, with Clarke being intent on digging through Becca’s selection, but it’s mostly been relaxing stuff. This is _fun_ music. The kind of thing they’d play on the Ark at the few dances they had. The ones that he doesn’t remember ever going to. Too busy protecting his sister. 

When she doesn’t answer, he gets a little worried, though he knows it’s more than ridiculous. He sets his book down regardless and makes his way to the kitchen. When he sees Clarke, dancing, spinning around and mouthing the words to the song, he laughs. It fills up his whole chest and he isn’t sure anything’s ever been quite so funny or miraculous to him in months. 

“Bellamy!” she calls out when she sees him, and smiles so bright it sends a shock through him. 

She hoists up a bottle filled with clear liquid that he’s guessing is definitely not water. 

This is confirmed when she shouts over the music, “I found tequila! I was gonna come get you in a second, I swear.”

“Sure you were,” he replies, holding in another laugh. 

“I was!” she protests. “But you’re here now, so you _have_ to dance.”

“Clarke—” he starts, but she won’t have it.

“Oh, duh,” she lets out a giggle, and he wonders if he’s ever heard Clarke Griffin giggle before. Not likely. “You need tequila.”

She thrusts the bottle into his hands, more because she lets go and he has to catch it to make sure it doesn’t smash on the floor. He doesn’t take a sip and instead just marvels at the sheer hilarity and wonder that is a drunk Clarke. 

When he still doesn’t drink and she’s still dancing, she pauses and crosses her arms over her chest. “Either you drink and dance, or you just dance period. There’s no way for you to escape this.”

“You gonna make me?” he responds, before thinking better of it.

She smirks, and it makes him swallow thickly. But that reaction isn’t much compared to when she says, “Maybe I will.”

He forces himself to look away, not even sure what he’s meant to do with the look in her eyes. The heat there. He doesn’t think they’ve ever done _this_ sort of thing before, even when they’ve danced on the lines. Even on that Unity Day, which seems like it happened an eternity ago. He would’ve remembered if it had ever been like this. After a moment, he gives in and takes a pull from the tequila and sways a little to the music. 

“Happy?” he asks.

She nods and grabs his arm and spins herself around in a circle. “Ecstatic.”

Then she starts dancing once more and he takes another drink and it’s almost as if that loaded exchange between them never happened. He only half-regrets it. Mostly because...It’s Clarke and there’s no way and even if she wants him _like that_ sometimes, when she’s lonely or scared or needs it, it isn’t the way that he’d want it to be. It isn’t the right way. Which is how he knows it’s never gonna happen. 

“You okay?” she gets out, sort of breathless. 

It occurs to him that his face probably gave him away. Dammit. He pushes it aside though, and for the first time in so long, finds that he doesn’t want to dwell on the doom and gloom. He wants to have fun with Clarke. Even if it’s fleeting. Even if it might be a bad idea. 

So, he swings her around and she laughs and he tells her, “For once, yeah, I am.”

They dance for almost a dozen more songs like that, spinning around and doing the dorkiest dance moves he thinks he’s ever seen. Stuff that Clarke saw as a kid on the Ark. She doesn’t mention that it was her and Wells who learned them together, but it’s there, in the way she breezes past it. He doesn’t push. If she wants to bring him up, she will, and he’ll listen. For now though, they bask in just having fun. 

And then a soft, slow song comes on, and their laughs die in their throats. It’s so tense between them for a second that Bellamy doesn’t even know what to do with it. He laughs awkwardly and she bites her lip. He thinks she might change the song or suggest that they get some rest. Let the night end there. 

Instead, she lets out a hurried, “You wanna dance?” So fast he almost misses it. 

When he’s too shocked to reply, she follows it with, “Sorry, that’s stupid, forget that I—” 

But Bellamy recovers enough to take her hand in his own and pull her a little closer. He doesn’t actually answer her question, but she settles her hands on her shoulders. He starts with his own on her sides.

“Bellamy,” she huffs. “You can touch my waist. We’re not thirteen.”

He rolls his eyes, sort of grateful for the teasing, for the outlet to diffuse the moment. “You try to be respectful and get made fun of instead, seriously, the thanks I get.”

She laughs. “Yeah, well…” she trails off though and a silence, though not an uncomfortable one, settles between them. 

It’s weird, for a bit, but then they adjust to it and Bellamy shifts their positioning a little and starts to genuinely lead her, twirling her occasionally and then dipping her. Hands steady despite the hammering of his heart in his chest. It’s beyond embarrassing that he’s this affected, and he doesn’t let himself think about why. 

“You know how to dance?” she asks, brows raised, breaking the quiet. 

He snorts. “I have Octavia as a little sister, remember?” 

Clarke nods and grins, then he spins her around with a bit more flair and it elicits a laugh of surprise from her. She’s a little unsteady on her feet when he brings her close again and he shakes his head.

“So, the Princess doesn’t know how to dance but I do, huh?”

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up. I didn’t have many friends on the Ark. Just Wells, really.” 

Her expression turns sad and he hates that she’s lost so many people. That they both have. 

Clearing her throat, she goes on, “And he was more interested in beating me at chess or watching old soccer matches than slow-dancing.”

It feels like so long ago that Wells died. That they were even living at The Dropship. Him and her taking care of a group of teenagers like they were their own damn society. As much as he would protest it, like they were a family. It seems like it was years ago, even, but it’s only been months, not even a full year. At the mention of Wells, he’s again filled with an ache that Clarke has to live a life without one of the people she loves most in it. 

“I’m sorry I was such an ass to him back then, especially to him,” he says after a while. He doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to keep talking about Wells, about past hurt, but he figures if she wants, she can shut the conversation down. 

Clarke shakes her head and smiles a little. “The funny thing is, once I knew more about you, and yeah, you weren’t as much of an ass, I think you and Wells would’ve been friends. Maybe not for a while, but,” then she frowns, “I don’t know. Forget it. It’s useless and silly, imagining this stuff.”

“It’s not either one of those things,” he replies, fast, needing her to know it as soon as possible. “It means a lot to me, that you think that.” 

“Yeah,” she allows, “but it’s still…”

Bellamy won’t have it though. “I think about that kind of thing, too.”

They’re still swaying to the music, and as sad as their words are, he’s sort of grateful for them. It keeps him from thinking about how close she is. The way her hips feel under his hands. How she keeps her eyes trained up at him. Prevents him from doing something incredibly foolish that he can never take back. 

“Why?” she asks, but not in a cruel way. Rather, she seems like she needs to know for her own sanity. Looking for some kind of understanding. 

He will try his absolute best to give that to her. “I guess it started out as a way to punish myself. If my mom had lived, if the Ark didn't fail, if I’d never gone with Pike, if Lincoln was still alive...Sometimes, I think it still is like that.” 

She bites her lip and looks like she wants to protest, so he goes on before she can, “But it isn’t just that, not anymore. Now, it’s almost like a way to keep going. To remind myself that things could be different, but they aren’t, of course. Still, somehow, it helps. Even if it’s only for a moment, I can think about how we could all still be at The Dropship, or just living in Arkadia, and what it would be like. To have peace.”

“You could’ve had that,” she says, and it’s not at all what he expected, but when he thinks about it, of course, she would go there. 

“Clarke—”

“You could’ve,” she insists. “Up on the Ring. With everyone else. Maybe you’d be eating algae and drinking recycled pee,” she grimaces, “but you’d be safe and not worried about starving or running out of water and dying on this stupid planet that probably never wanted us in the first place. Instead of peace, you’re stuck here with me, where we might die anyway.”

He collects his words carefully, not wanting to leave anything out. For a moment, he doesn’t even know where to begin telling her how wrong she is. Not without overloading on her and revealing too much. Without giving her more than he can expect or should expect from her. 

Bellamy pulls her closer without thinking about it. So close their chests are almost touching. He needs her to know that all those things she said don’t matter to him. He accepted death long ago, and as much as he knows it’s sort of fucked up, doesn’t think his life has much value. He isn’t sure if he ever thought it did, but certainly, not now, not after everything. 

“I don’t care,” he says, not nearly as eloquent as he thought this would go in his head. “What I mean is, I don’t care if we die down here or that I’m not up there with the rest of them. When I made the decision to stay, it was the best choice I could’ve made, and I don’t regret it. And yeah, I thought it also meant I was going to die, but the fact that I didn’t, that you didn’t, it made that fear and possibility worth it.”

The words are coming faster than he thought they would, faster than he can reign them in, and he knows he’s saying too much but he doesn’t care. 

He keeps going, “I couldn’t leave you, Clarke. I couldn’t condemn you to die on your own. Even if we still die, it would’ve been worth it, these past weeks. Being stuck with you has been a pleasure, okay? But for the record, I don’t think we’re dying. I still have hope.” 

He thinks of something he said in the bunker, but breezes past it, what almost happened after he wrote her name down on that list. 

“So, what I’m saying is…” He huffs out a dry laugh. “Fuck peace.”

Clarke swallows thickly and lets out a breath. Then she moves closer, eyes wide and swimming with grief and relief and something even deeper. Something he doesn’t want to name because he knows if he does, there is no going back. He knows if he even thought it, he would never be able to return to the way things are. The way they need to be.

As soon as he thinks it though, another thought comes through his head: _Do they_ still _need to be that way?_

After all, there’s no one to lead. No one left to kill. No one left to save. No problems left to solve that will only cause more death and pain and destruction. There’s nothing but the two of them, still dancing a bit, holding each other on a dead planet. 

Then he remembers what they’d been talking about. Sadness and pain and dreams that will never come true. It shuts down every other whim in his mind. Makes him go cold all over. The two of them have been here before. Some fun. Some comfort. He knows what it means, and it’s not whatever he thinks he might want but is too scared to admit. Clarke needs him, yes, but this isn’t that kind of need. This is the kind that could be for anyone. Not specifically him. 

Bellamy can’t do it to himself, even though he knows it will hurt her, might even drive her away. He wants, he wants, he wants. But he can’t. Because the realization that she wants _someone_ but not _him_ will crush him. It will fragment the carefully controlled boundaries of their relationship into a thousand jagged pieces and he will never get over it. 

So, he lets his hands drop from her waist, and steps away a bit. 

“We should get some sleep,” he tells her. Like he did before, what feels like ages ago, but really, it hasn’t been all that long. 

She blinks and doesn’t reply for a moment, but eventually, just nods. He knows he’s caused her some kind of pain, by doing this, but he tells himself it is for the better, to do it here and now. Opposed to later, after the wall they pretend isn’t there has been torn down between them. 

Despite it all, he doesn’t have as much self control as he should. 

So, before he can stop himself, he leans down, and presses his mouth to her forehead. It isn’t even a real kiss, honestly, just a gentle touch. He can only hope it will be enough to not create damage between them, to make it feel okay for her. 

And then he walks away. Hating himself for it, but resolute in telling himself that it’s for the best, all the same.

* * *

Raven hasn’t slept in days and she thinks she might never sleep again if she doesn’t find a way to speak to Octavia. It isn’t only that though. If she had all her free time to dedicate to solving the problem with the radio, then she _knows_ she would’ve gotten it to work by now. Her other responsibilities, taking care of everyone and encouraging them and helping Murphy break up fights (which has somehow become his most important and yet unofficial task), they all pull her away from the job at hand. So, the only time she really has to work on it is when everyone else is sleeping. Or pretending to sleep, in what she suspects is Echo and Jasper’s case. 

Echo because Raven’s pretty sure she expects one of them to sneak into her room and take her out in the night. Jasper because everyone knows he has nightmares and endless thoughts that don’t allow for rest. Monty’s talked to her about it. How he’s trying to be there for him and Jasper cried in his arms and apologized but then nothing really came from it. They’re doing all they can. But it’s hard. So fucking hard. She knows she needs to try more with Jasper, with all of them, really, but he’s been dodging her. Probably suspecting her intentions. Not that she’s sure she could ever get through to him.

“Bellamy would be able to,” she mutters to herself, late into the night as she fiddles with the wires connected to the system that _should_ make the radio work. “He’d be like, ‘Blah blah inspiration blah blah blah hope blah mythology reference blah blah I believe in you,’ which of course, Reyes, you have no idea how to do.”

She thinks the whole talking to herself thing is definitely a bad sign, but she’s so tired, she can’t bring herself to care. 

Frustrated and defeated, she tosses the wires down. Heaving herself up, she storms off down the corridor, towards the furthest room where one of her people sleeps. To Echo’s room. 

She doesn’t even knock, just barges into the room.

To her credit, Echo doesn’t even look surprised. She’s reading a tattered book. Some romance novel, the kind that Raven remembers her mother liked. It almost makes her laugh, but instead, just brings out a wry smile. Echo likes steamy books. Who knew. 

“What do you want?” she asks, dry. As if she’s already bored with whatever Raven’s purpose is. She probably is, frankly. 

It doesn’t help that she’s intent on isolating herself, while Raven’s been dragging her out for meals and exercise and other forms of socialization that Murphy’s dubbed ‘mandated family bonding time’. It made her snort, the first time he said it. They’re about the furthest thing from a family as you can get. 

“You need to cut the crap and sleep and stop being such a whiny little punk,” she gets out before she psych herself out or remind herself that it isn’t worth it. That she doesn’t even like Echo. 

Echo sets down her book. “And why would I?” she demands. She sits up and glowers at her from her ancient mattress on the floor. “What good would it do me to, as you said, ‘stop being such a whiny little punk’?” She scoffs. “Not that I even am going to pretend what that means."

“Because,” Raven takes a breath. “You’re here now and like it or not, you’re stuck with us for almost another four years and eleven months. You need to stop thinking we’re gonna shove you out of an airlock at any chance we get.”

Echo huffs and rolls her eyes. It’s sort of surprising, but Raven guesses that she has been watching a lot of TV on the portscreens they found. It's a little unnerving though, for the grounder spy to do something Raven associates with surly teens. 

“How am I meant to believe that?” Echo asks. “I know what you all think of me. I know you all want Bellamy and Clarke here more than me. That you wish I was the one to die and not them. What about any of your behavior suggests that you do not want to kill me? Enlighten me. Since you are so smart.”

“We’re trying, okay?” Raven gets out. “I know it isn’t perfect and we’re all fucked up and hurting and yeah, okay, we don’t trust you. So what? Monty’s dealing with his hands while keeping us fed, Murphy and Emori can’t stop fighting, Jasper’s doing his best to stay alive. And I’m doing my best to keep us all moderately functional. So suck it up.”

Echo seems to be sort of shocked by her sort-of tirade. Well, as shocked as Raven’s ever seen her. Which only gives her the room to keep going. 

“Bellamy and Clarke are _dead_ so that you could be here. So I swear if you keep stalking around the place, showing just how much _you_ hate _us_ , and don’t at least _try_ to do something more than whatever the hell it is you currently are, then maybe I really will float your ass.”

There’s a long pause before Echo replies, during which they stare each other down. 

“Fine,” she responds, though Raven can tell it might be the last thing she wants to say. 

The thought doesn’t exactly encourage warm, fuzzy feelings. It doesn’t make her trust her, but she can tell that it’s a lot for her to admit, to accept. 

Regardless of the doubt Raven may harbor, Echo closes her eyes and lets out a slow breath. “I will do my best to at least act as if I do not think you are all waiting to kill me. Or that I would not enjoy the chance to kill you given the opportunity if you did.” She opens her eyes and narrows them a little. “Is that enough for you?” 

She nods. “For now, yes, it is.”

It’s the truth, too. If she’s learned anything these past forty days, it’s that she can’t push. Leadership is about balance. A careful weighing of the scales. It's delicate and painful, most of the time. It's lonely, more than anything. She understands Bellamy and Clarke more than she ever did when they were alive. The thought makes her throat get all tight so she can’t swallow. 

One time, she cried about it in her workroom. Murphy walked in but pretended he didn’t see the tears. Just asked her if she’d gotten in contact with Octavia yet and that Emori and him had another stupid fight and he was pretty sure Jasper told Harper to go fuck herself but he didn’t really mean it. The distraction had been nice, and he never mentioned her sob fest. Not even to make fun of her. 

Echo sighs, almost petulant, but enough that Raven knows she isn’t making any more headways tonight. “Then can I be alone now?”

“Okay,” she tells her. She considers saying more for a second as she goes to open the door. Before she thinks better of it, she turns back to Echo. “Give it time,” she says.

She doesn’t think Echo will reply, but she shifts her expression into one made out of steel, giving nothing away. “How much?”

She shakes her head, not knowing the answer to that. How to tell her she doesn't know, either. “Just give it time.”

Then she turns back around and pulls open the door, leaving Echo to herself. 

Raven isn’t completely sure Echo’s ruled out killing her for that conversation by itself, let alone her numerous other reasons that she no doubt has. But she’s grateful that things went where they did. If nothing else than she hopes to make it a little less tense between all of them. As she shuts the door behind her, she sees Murphy leaning against the wall opposite. Great. Just what she needs. 

“Eavesdrop much?” She crosses her arms over her chest. 

Murphy does a slow-clap and grins at her. “Very good. Top-notch leadership skills.” When she glares at him, he adds, “Seriously, I’m impressed.” 

She shoves him lightly at the shoulder as she passes by and starts down the corridor. “Fuck you,” she says when he catches up to her, but it doesn’t have anywhere near the amount of venom it used to.

“Oh, how will I go on?” he replies. 

She huffs. God, he’s so...So Murphy. She can’t even escape him anymore. What’s becoming even more disturbing is that she thinks, out of everyone, he’s the one she talks to the most.

They haven’t told anyone about the message from Octavia. It would be too much to put on them. Besides, she hasn’t figured out how to fix the problem with the radio yet. They agreed they’d tell them once she did. For now, they keep the secret, and she's suspecting it isn't the first nor the last they would share between the two of them. 

“What are you even doing up? Sulking over another fight with the Mrs.?” she jokes, and then wishes she hadn’t when his expression sours. 

“You really know how to read me,” he says, dry, unforgiving, but not entirely biting. 

It gives her the courage to ask, “You wanna talk about it?”

They reach her workroom and she walks in, not at all surprised when he follows and takes a seat in the chair that’s sort of become his. Which, most of the time, she ignores. He sighs and seems intent on being closed off. More than usual. So, she starts playing with the wires again and waits for him to start. 

“It’s like we forgot how to talk to each other,” he tells her.

“Didn’t realize you two loved to talk so much,” she replies, only half-kidding.

“You’re a riot.” His tone is dismissive but, still, not pissed. Which is probably why he keeps going. 

“I love her.” He swallows. “And it hasn’t gone away or anything, but ever since we came up here, it’s getting harder to actually _be_ together. Like something’s coming between us, something neither one of us even understands, and we try. I mean, I think I try. Fuck,” he mutters. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.”

Without looking up from her work, she sighs. “Finn and I fell apart the moment his feet touched the ground.” She chews on her lip for a moment before she admits, “And not just because he had feelings for Clarke, more than he did for me. Because...It was different. Both of us were different. No matter how much we loved each other, it didn’t matter. There was too much distance.”

“So you think it’s hopeless?” he asks.

She hears the tinge of desperation in his voice. He doesn’t want it to be true. As much as questions why she thinks it, why she even cares this much, she doesn’t want it to be true either. Mostly because she thinks it will make her life more difficult than it already is, but there’s another reason. One she doesn’t even understand. She wants him to be good with Emori, she’s made him better, she thinks. No one’s ever done that before.

_Well,_ a voice sounds in her head, one that’s new since coming up to the Ring, one that she hates, _except maybe you_. 

That’s ridiculous though, she knows that. 

So, she keeps working on the wires and says, “Of course, it isn’t. Don’t be an idiot. You love her, she loves you. Not everything is like me and Finn. Sometimes it’s...Sometimes it can be good. It’s probably just an adjustment period. You guys’ll work it out. So, you know, don’t go crying and getting all emo on me yet.”

“Thanks, really.” He coughs and she’s so grateful when he goes on to ask her, teasing, all the seriousness of the moment sucked out of the room, “But ‘emo’ seriously?"

She smirks. “I call it like I see it.”

“Okay, like you totally didn’t love that pop girl group from before the bombs...What was their name…” He snaps his fingers together. “Spice Girls.”

She sucks on her teeth. “They were artists, okay?”

Murphy throws back his head and laughs. She rolls her eyes and mutters something about how she will tell Echo he stole her favorite romance novel and let her throttle him. This only makes him tease her even more. They go on like until Monty calls for breakfast. They make their way to where they all eat, and to her shock and sort of horror, and even worse, some kind of contentment, she finds herself thinking that _this_ was actually exactly what she needs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading ❤︎
> 
> just a reminder that this fic is being written as part of the @bellarkefic-for-blm initiative over on tumblr, so if you'd like to learn more/generate a prompt from me or other amazing writers, head on over there! 
> 
> find me on tumblr (@animmortalist)
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	5. I Just Never Know How to Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies!! I am so, so sorry for the wait for this chapter. I know it's a long time coming, but I started a new job and then everything happened and...Yeah, I just couldn't get the update up any sooner. As far as I'm concerned, bellarke are ours now and I will continue to write and love them. This is a bit of a beast of a chapter, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> In case you didn't know, there's a wonderful initiative going on for t100 fandom called t100fic-for-blm. Learn more about us and how to prompt a writer or content creator with our carrd [here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/%5D\(https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/).
> 
> Thank you _so_ freaking much to the people who have nominated me for a BFWA, including a couple for this story. It truly means everything to me. Whether or not you vote for me, please show appreciation for the wonderfully talented people in this community. You can find information about voting [here](https://bellarkeficawards.tumblr.com/post/629284180021411840/voting-details).
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> Find the playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SORERZx9FcmNvkAywWP1E?si=DMhxhw2gQiKpUd5dR8hydA)
> 
> *Chapter title is from '8' by Billie Eilish   
> Sending all the love and good thoughts to you 💖💜💙

Over the course of a month, Murphy breaks up no less than two dozen fights. In all stages from petty insults to actual, physical blows. He doesn’t know how the hell _he_ became the person people listened to when they’re yelled at to back down and walk away. He didn’t choose it, isn’t sure when he even accepted it. Rather, he’s someone who landed into the role, and finds he doesn’t make the move to shift away from it. Though he knows he could, if he wanted to, but Raven’s still leading them, best as she can. He did promise her he’d do what he could to stand by her. He might not always be a good person, but his word is, this time. 

The biggest problem lately is Jasper. They don’t talk about it for a while, but eventually, Raven cracks one night while still fiddling with the radio. Which they still haven’t gotten to work, and he knows that it weighs heavily on her. That she’s growing more and more frustrated with her inability to fix the problem by the day. Jasper might be one they can fix though. Well, at least, they can try. Because none of them are fixable, at this point, but maybe the two of them could figure out a way for him to be a little less drunk, a little less miserable, all the damn time. 

“I don’t know what to say to him,” she confesses, and Murphy doesn’t have to ask to know who she’s talking about. 

He doesn’t bring up the fact that she once told him to tell everyone she floated herself. Isn’t sure either one of them is ever going to be ready to attempt that conversation. That he’s part of the reason she nearly…

Murphy doesn’t like to think about a lot of the things he’s done, but shooting Raven, being a contributing factor in her almost taking her own life? It’s the thing he knows he’ll never be able to atone for, not ever, not if he tried for a hundred years. 

She rolls her eyes and huffs out, “I don’t want to talk about me. So wipe that pitying, sad look off your face, okay? I want to figure out the best way to make Monty stop looking like he’s gonna burst into tears anytime Jasper stumbles into the room.”

He clears his throat and nods, doing his best to do as she asked. He isn’t going to make her discuss it if she doesn’t want to, and really, he’s selfishly relieved. “Fair enough.”

“So?” she questions. “Got any ideas.”

“We could hide all the booze. Or maybe better yet, float it.”

She snorts. “I don’t think that’s in the best interest of everyone. And wasn’t it you who couldn’t wait for Monty to start producing it only over a month ago?”

“That was before I knew what a constantly drunk Jasper and sad Monty was like,” he responds. “He looks like someone kicked his puppy. It’s awful.”

She smiles, the smallest bit. “You getting soft?”

“Ha,” he shoots back, dry. “You’re the one who brought up this whole thing, remember? So, clearly, you’re the one getting soft.”

She grins and sticks out her chin. “Never. Though I am beginning to suspect you’ve always been this soft, and I’m just figuring it out now.”

He rolls his eyes. “Aren’t we supposed to be discussing The Jasper Problem?”

“Nice defensive,” she says, but gives in and relents. “Yeah, I guess we should get back to that…” Raven sighs and runs a hand across her forehead.

Murphy thinks about it for a minute before trying to lighten this. As much as they can be, given the circumstances. 

“Look, it might be unethical but maybe we let Echo physically knock some sense into him.” She gives him this look, and hell, he can’t help but smile and laugh. “Oh come on, that was kind of funny.”

Raven shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He raises his brows and smiles even wider, but when she turns somber once more, he adds, “At least _she’s_ doing better. You did a good job there.”

She sucks at her teeth. “Yeah, and it’s about the only progress I’ve made with anyone.” She shifts her gaze and glares at the radio. “With anything, too.”

“Think of it this way,” he says, “if you actually got the radio to work we’d have to tell Abby and Octavia that they’re dead.”

Raven glowers at him and he raises his palms in defense. “Just trying to think of the upside.”

“Yeah, it’s real feel-good positivity,” she grumbles out. After a moment, she goes on, “They would know what to say to him, what to do to help him.”

Murphy knows she’s right, and she knows she’s right, and there’s no denying it or trying to convince each other otherwise. “You’re doing what you can.”

She goes back to staring at the radio, the mess of wires, the work that’s been consuming her thoughts every night since they first heard Octavia. She needs sleep, but he knows better than to mention it. Rather, he’s been thinking of ways to subtly trick her into it. 

She brushes a hand under her eyes and at this point he understands it’s his job to pretend he doesn’t see it. “It’s not enough. I don’t think if I did everything, that even if I was _them_ , it would be enough.”

“I can try talking to Jasper,” Murphy gets out without thinking too much about it or the consequences or the way it’s so easy to tell her he’ll do it so she doesn’t have to bear it all alone. 

She stares him down, thinking it over. “What are you even gonna say to him?” she asks, sounding more curious, and, honestly, surprised than anything else. 

“You’re not the only one who’s thought about floating themselves,” he rushes out, again without thinking about it too much. 

He wonders if he does better with Raven when he doesn’t think through every word or action. Why that is, he isn’t sure. Whether it’s always been there or if this is new since coming back up to space. Murphy doesn’t have the time to think about it too much though because he notices the look on her face. 

Surprise, yes, but sadness, too. 

“I didn’t know,” she says, quiet.

He shrugs. “Not everyone’s gotta be as dramatic about it as you.”

She laughs, dry, almost choking on it. “I can hardly believe you weren’t a complete drama queen.”

He scoffs, and laughs, too, though he knows it isn’t funny. Knows that they’re only doing it because acknowledging the truth of it, the reality of their pain and suffering that led them to that place, is too much to give any kind of weight. If they did give it that kind of room, then they probably would both burst into tears or something horrible like that. He senses that she wants to avoid that just as much as he does. It’s still a weird exchange, but since when has everything about the two of them not been weird?

“I’ll talk to him, alright?” he asks.

Though he knows he isn’t really asking her permission. Raven doesn’t want to do it, or rather, feels she wouldn’t do it right. Murphy isn’t sure that even existed, but he’s willing to try. For his friends, for all of them, really. It isn’t only Monty who’s brought down by Jasper. There’s a greater meaning there, though. Something that needs to be addressed. With some great amount of luck, he might be able to get through to him. At the very least, to make him want to try to see the good in existing once more. 

Raven starts to protest, but he cuts her off, “I’ll handle Jasper, and you figure out a way for us to communicate with the bunker. God only knows what’s gone to shit down there. They might’ve had a full-on war over Miller’s bad jokes alone.”

Raven fights it, but in the end, he sees that she can’t suppress her smile entirely. He grins and she swats at him with a bit of wire.

“Fine, but I’m still not convinced you’ll be able to get through to him.”

“Have a little faith,” Murphy replies. “I am a connoisseur of emotions and mushy shit.”

She huffs but is still smiling, if only the slightest bit. When she sees how he notices, she rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Now, shut up and leave me alone so I can work. Get some rest, you’re gonna need it.”

He quirks a brow and can’t stop himself from asking, “Is that a sex joke?”

She just looks at him for a moment before scoffing and grumbling out, “‘Is that a sex joke?’ Seriously, Murphy? You’re gross. I meant because you’re talking to Jasper tomorrow, and it’s gonna require all the humanity you’ve got.”

He snorts. “I have plenty of humanity.”

She deadpans, “Of course, you do.” Then she motions with her hand towards the door to the workroom. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Goodnight,” he says to her, cheery, as if tomorrow doesn’t bring a new struggle to add on to the thousands that already exist. As if he isn’t going back to his and Emori’s room, where even when they’re not fighting tensions from previous arguments linger. Like everything’s normal, even though they’re about as far from that as they’ve ever been. Which is truly saying something. 

He tells himself that Raven’s right, that things will settle. He just has to give it a chance. Give them a chance. They’ve adapted before. They can certainly do it again. Still, even as he leaves the room and walks down the corridor, he dreads it, but he knows he can only hide out with Raven for so long. 

“Hey,” he greets Emori when he gets to their room, hesitant but not unkind. 

They fought yesterday, but only a little, and he takes that as a win, small and pathetic, maybe, but still. These days, he accepts what he can get from his and Emori’s relationship. 

She smiles warmly, for which he’s relieved, and stands up from their bed on the floor. She gives him a kiss and wraps her arms around his neck. When she pulls back, she looks at him for a moment. His thoughts are still on Jasper though. On what he’s going to say to him tomorrow. How the hell he’s meant to convince him that humanity isn’t actually a plague upon the world as he probably thinks. 

Clearly, Murphy shows off more than he intends because she pulls back a little and asks, “What’s wrong?”

He and Raven still haven’t told anyone about Octavia’s radio or their plans to get through to those in the group who need it most. Half because he knows Raven would never sleep at all if she didn’t get it to work immediately after and half because he’s worried they both think they imagined it. They keep the therapy sessions to themselves because he’s sure if anyone knew they actively planned any of their conversations, they’d never get through to them. As much as he wants to tell Emori the thoughts waging war in his mind, he can’t give away something that isn’t completely his to tell. 

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “Though if the pity thing works for you, I do have something in mind that could help…” 

He grins and leans down to kiss her, but she untwins her hands from around his neck and steps back. 

Emori frowns and shakes her head a little. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

She gives him a hard stare, unflinching, and he wishes again he could just tell her. Everything. The radio and Jasper and how he doesn’t know how they’re actually going to survive on algae that takes like absolute shit for the next almost five years. That he isn’t sure how he and Raven are going to do it. 

He wants to tell Emori all of it, and even though he knows Raven would give him the go-ahead, he doesn’t. He isn’t sure why, and doesn’t want to look too closely at it, but for whatever reason, he feels he can’t speak those fears and concerns into existence. Not in their room that’s meant to be a retreat from the rest of the Ring. Mostly because he wants to protect her, to make sure she doesn’t have anything to worry about. He meant it when he said he was her home, and the last thing he wants is to make her think it’s being threatened. 

Regardless, he doesn’t give her the answer she wants. Though, to be fair, he isn’t sure that’s even a possibility, that anything would be enough. For either one of them.

Murphy swallows. “It’s just stress. I tend to get that way when people act like they wanna float each other all the time and my scrawny frame is the only thing standing in the way.”

Emori doesn’t buy it for a second, which he can’t help but love even as he feels another fight building. “If you would just tell me what’s going on, maybe I could help.”

He sighs, petulant, and wishes once more it was easier to speak to her about this kind of thing. “Nothing’s going on.”

She just glares at him. “Please, be honest with me. I know when something’s bothering you. I know _you_ , John.”

“Look—” he starts, but she doesn’t let him finish.

Emori goes on, frustration rooted in her voice, “I know you’d rather talk to Raven about it, but can you just pretend for a moment that it’s me who you want to confide in?”

He frowns, unsure of why she went there. Sure, he and Raven have grown closer, but in part, it’s because she asked. She needs someone to lean on. He doesn’t know why Emori would think that was a bad thing, or hell, feel something that he thinks sounds like threatened about it. 

“What’s that even mean?” he asks, genuinely wondering. 

The question is in part because he’s trying to kill this conversation, but also because he really does want to know why she’d say that. For the almost two months they’ve been up here, she’s made more than one comment about him and Raven. He knows that, of course, they’ve gotten closer in recent weeks. More than he ever expected. In fact, in a way that if you told him would’ve happened a couple of months ago, he’d laugh his ass off. But that is out of _necessity_ . That is because _they don’t have a choice_ . They’re trying to keep everyone _alive_. So be it if they end up talking late at night once everyone’s tired themselves out from fighting or bitching or any combination of the two. 

“You know what I mean,” she replies.

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t deign to give that a response. 

That doesn’t matter though, because she continues, “I know you two have spent far more time talking than us ever since we’ve come up here. I know suddenly you’re a team even though I thought you had all of this…” She waves a hand and shakes her head. “History between you that would keep you from ever truly trusting one another. And I know every time I try to talk to you about how you’re feeling, you shut me down.”

“That’s not true,” he says, lamely, like that excuse even attempts to hold up against her own words. 

Murphy knows she’s made a point even if he wants to live in denial about it all. Several, in fact. He knows he should at least try to have this conversation, one she clearly wants to have, but for some reason, all he wants is to shut it down. He can’t face her statements, what they mean and why. He can’t give her the answer she wants because he isn’t even sure of why the new dynamics between the three of them have emerged. He certainly doesn’t want to examine it now, and probably not ever. He doesn’t know what it all means and it freaks him out. The not-knowing. He’s seen some weird shit before, some sad shit, but he’s never been so at a loss about his own feelings. The absolute last thing he wants is to lose Emori, even though it already feels like he is, like he can’t even stop it as it’s happening. 

Emori bites her lip. “I think I’m gonna room with Echo for a bit.”

“What?” he asks, not understanding how they got here so fast. “Are you kidding? Wasn’t it not even a couple weeks ago that you joked about floating her in her sleep?”

She nods, mostly to herself, he thinks. “She offered a few days ago, after we had that full on screaming match so bad the rest of them heard. I didn’t think I was going to take her up on it, but I think I really do need some space.”

“Some space? Aren’t we already _in_ space?” He can’t help but crack the joke, desperate to make her change her mind or tell him she’s playing him. 

“John, I’m serious.” There’s a sadness in her eyes that he hates that he’s caused. “I really don’t know what we’re doing right now. If you can’t trust me…” she trails off.

“Wait,” he says. “Are you ending this? Are you ending us?”

She doesn’t reply for a moment, but it’s more than an answer.

“Emori—” he starts but she stops him with her own words. 

“I’m not saying for good, but for now, I need some time. I need to figure out what we’re doing. I can’t think clearly while spending all this time with you. While living in the same space as you. Echo understands that. You two aren’t the only ones who’ve gotten close, in the times we’ve been up here.”

He scoffs, unable to process what’s happening, how quickly everything fell apart. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll work on talking to you, I promise.”

She doesn’t give in though, not even when his voice takes on a pleading tone towards the end. “I’m sorry, but that’s not enough. We both need some time, and neither one of us is going to get that if we’re still spending every moment together.”

“So what?” he demands. “Are you just going to turn around in the other direction or leave the room whenever you see me? There aren’t exactly a ton of places to be up here.”

“We’ll work something out. But I’m going to move into Echo’s tonight. Even if it’s only temporary. Which I hope it is. I hope we can get back to each other. I don’t want to do this, you have to know that.” It’s her turn to plead, and he does believe her, but it doesn’t make what she’s doing any less complicated or painful. 

“So then...Why are you?” he can’t help but ask. 

She sighs, as if he should know. He wonders if he should know a lot of things. Stuff he should’ve picked up on but has been so consumed with other problems that he hasn’t—it makes him feel awful. Even just the possibility that he hurt Emori triggers a bout of self-loathing. Things might be more complex for them up here, but he still loves her. Still wants to keep her safe and happy. He’s failed at that, and he doesn’t even know why. 

“Because it’s what we both need right now.” She swallows. “Even if it hurts. We need to figure out what we’re doing here because I can’t keep going like this. It’s not fair to either one of us.”

He hangs his head in acceptance. “If that’s what you need…” he trails off, unable to finish. 

Too tired, too weighed down by the issues and fights and trying to be someone who Raven can really depend on. 

“It is,” she finishes. 

She grabs a bag from beside the room, which he should’ve noticed the minute he walked in but didn’t. He realizes that this isn’t just one bad night or an argument that can easily be solved by heated touches. This is real. 

Before she leaves, Emori reaches up and kisses him on the cheek. “I still have hope for us,” she says. “But this is what we both need right now. As much as you might not be able to see it.”

With that, she’s gone and Murphy’s alone. 

He makes it five minutes before he goes back to Raven. She quirks a brow when he walks in, but doesn’t press, for which he is infinitely appreciative of—when he’s ready to talk about it, he knows she’ll listen. 

“Here,” she offers, sliding him a bit of wire and a clipper. “You can work on this. Try not to fuck it up completely.”

Murphy gives her a wry smile. “But that’s my specialty.”

She huffs, rolls her eyes, but smiles all the same. He has no idea why, but it instantly alleviates some of the pain. Doesn’t take it away completely, but makes it bearable. Something that he can overcome. Where before he didn’t think he’d ever get over the anguish of possibly losing Emori, Raven manages to make him feel better in just a moment.

Instead of examining why that is, he focuses on the work before him. He might not want to admit it, but he’s just as desperate to communicate with the Bunker as Raven. Maybe if they can talk to more than just six other people, things will be easier. Not perfect, of course, and he can’t imagine telling Octavia and Abby the truth about Bellamy and Clarke, but it would be _something_ good. They could use that around here. 

* * *

They need to leave or they will die. 

Clarke knows this, but she isn’t sure their bodies are ready for the outside world yet. Isn’t sure that they’ll survive either way. The possibility of it all being for nothing weighs on her shoulders. It makes her want to curl up in her bed and never get out. She has to try though. For Bellamy, more than for herself. She doesn’t know if she’d been on her own if she would’ve managed to rally as she does. Certainly not with the minimal hope that only he can encourage. 

They don't talk about it, but both of them start to put packs together, what they have left of the rations. Hopefully enough supplies to last them until they get to Polis. Where they’ll join her mother and Octavia. There’s a definite excitement to Bellamy’s movements. Before, he believed he wouldn’t see his sister for five years. Now, he’ll see her in maybe a few weeks, if they’re lucky and smart and don’t perish. She itches to see her mom again, too. Miller, who she’s sure will be able to brighten even the Bunker. Niylah, who’s always been someone Clarke feels she can talk to, show her ugly side. The rest of their surviving people. A collection of others who don’t trust one another. It will be messy, she expects, but at least Bellamy won’t be stuck with just her. 

But she knows to get there, they’ll be forced to get through unfamiliar terrain. A world burned up and destroyed. She tries not to think they might die on the journey there, but the thought keeps coming back, no matter how hard she fights it. The lingering hope though, really, the hope that Bellamy gives her, makes her think they have a chance. Maybe a small one, but a chance nonetheless. 

They don’t talk about the night they danced together, when she isn’t sure what exactly, but _something_ almost happened. For two nights after, Bellamy and her don’t sleep in the same bed, as they had been since the night she asked him to stay. He goes back to the couch, and she fails to get any kind of sleep. When she spends an entire day yawning though, he comes back that night. Doesn’t make a big deal out of it or say why he left. She feels she already knows the answer to that, even if she’s afraid to think it. He just gets into bed on his side. He hasn’t held her like he used to though, like he did that first night. 

Clarke does her best not to miss it, not to miss him, but it doesn’t work.

When they’re ready to leave, they finally discuss it the night before she knows they have to go. Their rations are running low. There’s no time left to delay. They lie in bed, both awake but not speaking. Clarke wants to talk about it though. If only because she knows that Bellamy’s the only one she would want to discuss her possible death with, after everything. 

She doesn’t know where to begin, and takes a moment before saying, “I’m scared.”

It doesn’t even attempt to get at the mess of emotions she’s feeling, but she knows it’s enough for him. That it’s all she can offer right now. 

He lets out a relieved sigh. “Me too.” 

She turns in bed to face him, letting her eyes adjust to the dark so she can make out his frame fully. 

“What are you scared about?” she asks, half-curious and half-hoping they share, if not the same exact, then similar ones. If only because she can’t imagine them feeling completely separate about this.

“That I’ll never see Octavia again,” he says and she nods, she feels the same about her mom and the others. “That we won’t have a chance to help everyone. That the others didn’t survive in space.” He swallows and waits for a moment before finishing, “That I’ll fail you and your survival through a death wave will have been for nothing because I wasn’t enough to keep you safe.”

“Bellamy…” she starts, her voice revealing too much and not enough. 

Clarke moves closer, reaching out to touch his hand. When he doesn’t move away, she grasps onto it fully. She wants to say how wrong he is, how it simply isn’t possible that he’s not enough. That he’s always been enough for her, someone she can depend on more than she even understands. 

“You should rest,” he interrupts, shutting the moment down before it can even fully begin. “It’s gonna be a long journey starting tomorrow.”

She retracts her hand and nods, then realizes he probably can’t see her do it. 

“Okay,” she replies but then goes on before he turns away from her, “But you’ve always been more than I ever deserved, you have to know that.”

She hears rather than sees him swallow again. “Clarke—”

But she’s already turning away from him, not wanting to even give him the chance to argue against it. Part of it is fear that she’s said too much that she can’t take back, but there’s a larger one that wants the final word. Doesn’t want to give him the room to voice the fact that he doesn’t believe it. Not just because she knows it’s the furthest thing from the truth, but also because it breaks her heart, how much he doesn’t believe her words she knows to be true.

They both wake early, but she knows neither one of them managed to get much sleep, but there’s no more days left for them to spend on the island. Clarke insists on going out first, but then Bellamy fights her on it so badly they agree to go together. They go slowly, testing their hands first, then an arm. Until finally, she’s assured they won’t completely die if they venture out. The burns from their other attempts still linger. Enough that she can’t help but think of the sacrifice he made once more to stay with her. 

She doesn’t have the time to dwell on that though, because they both go outside for the first time in months. She takes a breath. The air is thick and it’s not at all like her first steps on Earth. All those months ago. When she felt so much younger than she is now, when she still had hope and innocence. She wonders what that girl would think of her, seeing who she’s become. 

Bellamy tells her as they start their journey in earnest, “Fancy a walk?”

She rolls her eyes. “Very funny.”

He smiles sadly. “Sorry.”

Clarke immediately goes back on her dismissal of it. “No, it’s…” She shakes her head. “Thank you. I need that. We both do.”

“Yeah, well.” He coughs. “Someone’s gotta lighten the mood of us possibly facing down our own deaths.”

“Right,” and she can’t help but grin, if only slightly. “Because that would clearly be the worst thing we’re dealing with here.”

He nods. “Exactly.”

She huffs out a laugh and he bumps his shoulder against her. It shouldn’t make her feel better, but the slightest touches from him have always managed to make her feel lighter. Like she doesn’t have to bear everything on her own. He’s always done that, she knows, but their expressions of how much they care for one another have been far and few between. Even though this one is casual, fun, even, it still feels so important. 

For a long time, they don’t talk. Mostly because they want to conserve their water, and if they spend this whole time pretending it’s better to joke around than face the reality, they’ll run out before they hit Polis. She wonders if the other piece is that they’ve both found comfort in silences, and for once, they don’t have to constantly be speaking. Talking to others about survival. There’s no one left but them right now. It feels strange, but it’s sort of comforting. 

Far in the distance, Bellamy spots something before she does, and he takes off running. 

“What are you doing?” she calls out, all concern. Maybe he’s seeing things. She’s been suspecting he’s been skipping out on water to save more for her. 

He looks back over his shoulder when he stops in front of something. He’s grinning and motions for her to come over to him. It takes her a moment, but when he kneels down and pulls out a shovel and starts digging, she finally gets it. 

Clarke rushes over to where he is, pulling out a shovel of her own. She can sense the happiness radiating off of him as they hit a piece of the Rover. He looks over at her.

“Looks like our walk’s gonna be cut short.”

She laughs and sighs. “You’re hilarious.”

He nods. “I know.”

They keep digging. It takes them forever, but at least with two of them, they can go faster. She imagines herself doing this alone, and aches again with gratitude for having him. For this small gift life has allowed her. 

Finally, they’re able to get the Rover fully out. It’s covered in sand and dust and grit. But it’s the _Rover_. Even she can’t keep her giddiness away. Though she knows almost all of it is because of the look in Bellamy’s eyes. Like everything is going to be okay now. She can’t make herself believe that, but she’s so happy he’s found some joy. That he’s found more hope. Clarke wants that for herself, too, and maybe, once they get to Polis, she’ll be able to feel it. 

They blast music from Maya’s music player as they drive, fighting over which songs they want. They finally settle on switching off on picking songs. The differences are vast, but Clarke likes finding out what kind of music Bellamy likes. His preferences go more towards the moody, though still somehow upbeat. He makes fun of her choices, saying she just likes the noise. She can’t deny it. She likes the thumping of a beat, the way it powers through her ears and makes her heartbeat quicken. 

When she says this to Bellamy, he stops mocking her preferences, and instead tries to point out things he likes about the songs, too. She knows it’s not at all the truth, and that he’s merely doing it to make her feel better. Clarke appreciates it regardless, letting it make her feel the hope and excited energy she feels coming off of him. 

“And you thought we weren’t gonna survive this,” Bellamy tells her as they continue on their drive.

She scoffs and replies, “Please. You definitely thought we were gonna die after that Sand Storm hit.”

The new challenges brought on by the Death Wave and radiation haven’t escaped them. While driving the Rover, they encountered more and more natural disasters that never existed before Praimfarya. She tries not to worry about the Bunker and if it’s been enough to protect everyone. It doesn’t work, even though Bellamy tries to lighten her mood with jokes or teasing. 

She stares out the window, willing them to go faster, faster, faster. She wants to get to Polis as soon as possible, her anticipation building as they continue on. Octavia will be so happy to see Bellamy, and even though there are still jagged fractures between her and Clarke, she wants to try and repair things. To get back to their Dropship days. Before any of the rest. 

“I could drive for a while, you know. Give you a break,” she offers. He cuts an unimpressed look at her and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I _can_ handle the Rover, you know.”

“I know you can handle it,” he replies. “I’m just not sure she’s ready for the kind of handling you give. After all, she has been through a damn Death Wave. Gotta be careful.”

Clarke huffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He looks over at her for a moment. “Of course, you don’t.”

She chews at her lip, trying not to smile. She can’t hold out for long though and Bellamy’s eyes light up a little at her expression. 

To cover up the feelings it brings up, she teases, “Plus calling it a ‘she’? Isn’t that a bit much?”

It’s his turn to huff and pretend to be offended. “Have some respect, alright? Without the Rover we’d still be walking.”

Clarke raises a brow. “Oh, so now she has feelings that I can apparently hurt by talking bad about her?”

He makes a face, but as she keeps staring him down, he cracks, bursting into laughter. She isn’t far behind him with her own. It’s the lightest she’s felt since the night they danced. For the past weeks, she’s been so worried they would never have that again. That she’d ruined it, even though she has no idea what she did wrong. It’s such a relief for things to get back to something that was so precious. Something she didn’t know if she’d ever have again after everything she’d done for her people. Of course, it’s Bellamy who gives her this, she thinks without really analyzing why that is—it’s too much to consider.

They joke around for a while yet, trading teases about the Rover or her driving. Her reminding him it was him who actually _crashed_ his precious vehicle. He flushes a little at the memory but she doesn’t know why. It doesn’t bring up as much sadness as she expects. The moment between them was rough, the events leading up to it even worse. 

But he gave her forgiveness, as he always has. As she hopes he always will. Clarke has a feeling that even though Praimfarya is over, making impossible choices isn’t yet. She dreads what she might have to do in the Bunker, but she knows Bellamy will be by her side as she does. Hopefully, Octavia and Miller and Jackson, too. Her mom offering what support she can. 

Clarke’s laughing so hard she’s practically snorting. Bellamy’s grinning at her and looking as delighted as she’s ever seen him. It’s such a _good_ moment. She should’ve known it couldn’t last. 

They drive up to Polis, and their laughter and smiles die as they take in their surroundings. 

It is a display of utter wreckage and ruin.

She can’t even see the Bunker entrance. Let alone realize how her and Bellamy are going to get in. Dread fills her mind and makes her heart sink into her stomach. Already, she‘s expecting the worst. She feels she knows what will happen before it even does. But Bellamy must feel differently.

He pulls the Rover over. 

“We’ll get in,” he tries to assure her. “We have to.”

She gives him a look that she knows isn’t the hope he needs, the hope he deserves. She can’t give it though. Not when she’s so sure that they don’t have a chance. Still, she won’t let him try alone. If he’s determined to do his best to get to the Bunker, she’s going to be right there with him. 

They dig for hours to get to the door. Her hands are bleeding and nails scraped down to the bit. They’re both covered in dirt and grime. She wipes at her sweaty brow. Bellamy starts to lose steam as they continue, and she finds herself urging him on, being the one to convince him to keep trying. 

“You’ll get to Octavia,” she insists. “We can do this.”

They keep going though, and even as they try their best, she becomes more and more convinced that their actions may be useless. Finally, they see the door. She finds a rock and bangs it against it.

Bellamy shouts, “We’re here! Can you hear us? Octavia? Abby?” 

No one replies.

They keep banging. They keep moving rubble. Even when her palms are practically ruined. When they’re exhausted and weary and she feels even Bellamy’s hope peters out. 

Then, as if things couldn’t be any worse, the rubble collapses, ruining their work. Hours and hours of attempts to get to their people, gone in a matter of seconds.

Clarke stands and looks at Bellamy. There’s a profound sense of despair in his eyes. The kind she wishes she could take away. That she would give _anything_ to take away. But she can’t. She can’t protect him from this and finds her own sadness caving in around her. 

“Where do you want to go?” she asks.

Bellamy looks back at the rubble, yearning in his expression. For his sister. For their people. For food and water. Even though he said he didn’t care about it before, she can’t help but think that most of all, he yearns for the sense of peace they could’ve had in the Bunker. 

He shakes his head and turns to look at Clarke. “Arkadia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading ❤︎
> 
> find me on tumblr (@animmortalist)


	6. Just Treading Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! So sorry for the lack of an update recently, but I had a lot of life stuff come up. However, I am really excited to share this chapter with you. It features Clarke and Bellamy arriving at Arkadia, and encountering something that will change their survival drastically. Then, Raven and Murphy settle into life on the Ring, but just as they begin to have peace, their lives are put on the line. 
> 
> I have also update the number of chapters this fic will include, which is still subject to change but will probably remain around 19. 
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful response I've received thus far for this story, including a nomination in the BFWAs. It truly means so much to me, and I will always be grateful. 
> 
> In case you didn't know, there's a wonderful initiative going on for t100 fandom called t100fic-for-blm. Learn more about us and how to prompt a writer or content creator with our carrd [here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/). 
> 
> Find the playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SORERZx9FcmNvkAywWP1E?si=TNOguFIiSBCiIc3L5q4KGA). 
> 
> *Chapter title is from 'Antichrist' by The 1975* 
> 
> Sending all my love and good thoughts to you 💜

Bellamy thought they might’ve found food or water at Arkadia. That’s the only reason it’s worth going there, he tells himself. He knows there are other reasons though. Ones he doesn’t want to think about. Because if he does, then he immediately thinks of Octavia and…

Five years.

That’s how long he has to go without seeing his sister. Without Clarke seeing her mom. Just the two of them. For five years. And so far, no food or water or even a bit of green. How the hell are they going to do it?

They walk around the ruins of Arkadia, picking up scrap metal. Searching for any kind of rations that might’ve survived the death wave. Because their luck’s phenomenal. They don’t find any.

Instead, they only find ghosts. 

Clarke’s hands shake slightly when she produces the lockbox from the rubble. They know it’s Jasper’s. She doesn’t ask if they should open it. They just do. Inside the Rover, because it somehow feels too exposed out in the open. They sit across from each other and stare at it for a while. 

She swallows and he watches, waiting for her to speak first. “I guess we should...I mean…” she trails off and shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

Sitting back, she leans against the Rover and closes her eyes. A while passes, and if he didn’t know her movements so well, he might’ve thought she fell asleep. He knows she hasn’t though. Everything in her still tense even though her body seems at peace. Ready to fight, even though there’s no longer any more wars to win or lose. 

Finally, Bellamy can’t wait anymore. He leans forward and opens the lockbox. Clarke’s eyes drift open and she mirrors his position. She’s anxious about it, he can sense it coming off her in waves. Like she’s fighting against it but can’t keep it at bay. He wonders if even she can’t keep control of her emotions now that they don’t have to spend every moment caring for others, ensuring the survival of their people, and doing whatever it takes to do that. 

He opens the lockbox, and for a moment, they just stare at the contents. Bellamy wants to speak but he doesn’t know the right thing to say. He worries that he’ll just make the moment worse, or hurt her even more than she is already. Yes, Jasper’s safe and alive, up in space with their people who will take care of him, but the lockbox is a reminder that he didn’t intend for that. He wanted to die, he wanted for it to be over, and while Monty refused to let that happen, it doesn’t erase any of it. 

Bellamy knows that it doesn’t erase Clarke’s guilt over the reasons behind it. That she blames herself. For the Mountain. For Maya. He carries the weight of what they did, too. Clarke walked away, what feels like years ago, from the gates of Arkadia wanting to accept the burden of all that happened. But he has his own scars from it. From what happened after even more. Pike. Lincoln. 

It’s a miracle they’ve made it this long. For not the first time, he wonders if him dying from starvation isn’t what’s meant to happen. It feels wrong for him to think that, for multiple reasons. Most of which include the fact that Clarke would scold him if she knew he was even thinking that. He has to keep going, though it would be easier to give up sometimes. He can’t even think about leaving Clarke alone. Not because he doesn’t believe she’d make it, but because he knows she deserves to have someone with her. Even if that someone is just him. 

Jasper’s goggles are there, given that there probably wasn’t time to think about those when Monty was dragging him to the rocket. Bellamy’s sure for a moment that they’re both going to burst into tears. At how close they came to losing yet another friend. How they won’t see those friends for five years. Worse yet, the fact that they don’t even know if any of them are even still alive. Pushing back the tears, he clears his throat and imagines Clarke doing something similar, even though he can’t bear to look at her in the moment. 

He finally glances over at Clarke and thinks that they might break into sobs anyway. She looks like she’s barely holding it together. He wants to be there for her, to comfort her, but doesn’t know if she’ll accept it. Or even wants it. He knows, sometimes, she needs it, but he can’t be sure this is one of those times.

Inside the box is a letter. In Jasper’s handwriting, ‘Monty’ is written on the front. Bellamy sets it aside. Without asking Clarke, he knows they’ll keep it, but not read it, ever. Whatever words are written there aren’t for them. 

The rest of the contents are just a few odd bits. Nothing worth too much of anything. But they are things important to Jasper, so Bellamy handles them all with care. Maybe when they come back down, he can give it back to him. Give him another chance to be the mischievous kid with goggles on his head. He yearns for it, for something like that for all of them. They deserve it, a part from him, of course, even if they never get it. He has small hopes that they might. But first, he and Clarke have to survive on this planet that clearly doesn’t want them. 

It’s then that he notices that Clarke’s crying. Silent tears that trail down her cheeks and leave streaks where they used to be caked with dirt. When she realizes he’s seen, she brushes them away, a little angrily, it seems. 

“I’m fine,” she says and he doesn’t buy it for a second. 

“Clarke—” His voice breaks and he moves across the Rover so he’s in the seat beside her. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she says. 

He hates that she’s dealing with it all, that even with no one left to lead she still feels like she has to weather it all without showing how much it impacts her. That she might actually be breaking under the pressure. He wants her to know that she doesn’t have to be like that anymore. That she can show it all to him, and he’ll be there to accept the weight of it all. It doesn’t matter how heavy it is, how much more he has to place upon his shoulders. He’d carry anything to make Clarke’s burden even the least bit easier. 

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” he replies. 

A moment of hesitation later, he brings an arm around her shoulders. She practically melts into the touch, if it wasn’t for a moment where she, too, pauses. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she lets out a slow breath. He feels her tears as they fall onto his shirt. 

“How are we gonna do this?” she asks. 

He feels helpless, but still wants to answer her. To give any kind of comfort that he can. From deep within him, so deep he doesn’t quite feel it, even, he musters some words of comfort. 

“We will.” He’s resolute as he continues, “Hell, I don’t know _how_ yet, but I know we will. If we can survive what we have, then I’m certainly not going to let a dead planet take us out.”

The tension still lingers, even when she says, a bit joking, “If you say so.”

He huffs. “I do.”

Bellamy senses her smile rather than sees it. She sniffles, wiping at her cheeks but not moving her head from his shoulder. For a while, they stay like that, until finally, they both drift off into a listless sleep.

The next morning, Bellamy tells Clarke, “We look for another hour, then we head out.”

Head out where, he doesn’t say. Because he has no idea. 

Clarke nods though, and responds, “I’m gonna go look over where the supply station used to be. Look for rations.”

He nods and goes off to explore the wrecked leftovers of what used to be, technically, his home. But if he’s honest with himself, he knows the only place on Earth that’s felt like a real home is the Dropship. More than just that though, he knows his home is a person now, and that’s scarier than he ever thought possible. So, he doesn’t let himself dwell on it for too long.

There’s nothing much to be found here. They got lucky with the lockbox, it seems. Almost nothing survived. Maybe if Raven were here, she would see more with value. But Bellamy doesn’t think they can easily move any amounts of scrap metal, even with the Rover. So much for finding something of worth. 

“Bellamy!” he hears and tenses all over. 

He’s already running toward where Clarke went when a second, “Bellamy!” rings out. 

Almost out of breath by the time he reaches her, he’s already ready to fire off questions. How she is. What happened. Is she hurt? But they all die in his throat and his eyes go wide when he sees what she’s found. 

“He’s weak, but still breathing,” she explains. “I think at the very least dehydrated. Do you have some of the water?” 

Bellamy unclips the water from his belt and hands it to her. She starts trickling some into his mouth. It’s tense for a number of moments. He feels helpless, to simply stand there and watch. But there’s nothing he can do. Not for Clarke, at least. He can only hope that it’ll work, that she won’t have to stand over someone else as they die. 

Bellamy watches, body coiled up, unable to face the worst. But then, he doesn’t have to. Because it seems they’ll get this one break. That Clarke will, more than him. 

It takes one terrifying moment, but then he opens his eyes and takes a rattling breath. 

Clarke grins, so wide it reaches her eyes and makes them shine, and breathes out, “ _Roan_.”

* * *

Raven finds out about the details of Murphy and Jasper’s talk by accident. 

She doesn’t mean to pry, and Jasper’s been doing better the last couple of days, so she knows Murphy must’ve said _something_ to him. She’s fine not knowing what that is, really. Completely. 

It’s just that...Well, she wants to know what Murphy managed to say to Jasper to make him stop drinking so much. Not entirely, but it’s enough, for now. He isn’t his old self at all, really. But he’s better. More himself than she’s seen in months. Which is all she thinks she can ask for, given everything they’ve all been through. He’s trying. Monty’s the happiest of them all, but she knows it’s steep competition. Even Echo seems relieved. 

Things have been easier between them all in the past few days. Like their burdens are finally being lifted. She knows her own are far from over, but it feels good, regardless, that her friends can settle in. Maybe even enjoy their five years here. It feels ridiculous to imagine, but Raven can almost taste it. And it sure is a hell of a lot better than Monty’s algae. 

She doesn’t mean to pry into what Jasper and Murphy discussed, but one night, they all get together and watch one of the movies on the server. It’s some buddy comedy Finn loved. The thought doesn’t make her nearly as sad as she expects, and she even enjoys the movie. It’s weird how grief functions, how it ebbs and flows. She knows a piece of her will always love Finn, but it doesn’t consume her anymore. Neither does his loss. She can miss him and understand that he didn’t love her the way she deserves and not think badly of him. For the first time in so long, it doesn’t even hurt all that much. 

She and Jasper are the last ones up. Murphy and Emori were trying to make things work, and she’d moved back in with him. But Raven could tell it wasn’t going well. Mostly by the way Murphy still spends most nights with her. Well, not like _that_ like...She shakes her head, clearing the thought away. 

“You okay?” Jasper asks, looking up from a book he’s reading. 

She’d been jotting down notes in a blank book Murphy found somewhere and flung at her yesterday. Still trying to come up with a way to make the radio work. She needs to talk to Octavia. To Miller. Even if it means giving them more grief and sadness. Though she knows they’re probably alright, she needs to hear it for herself. 

“I thought I was the one meant to be asking you that,” she replies.

She expects him to sour a bit in response, but he just smiles sadly. 

Jasper nods. “I know.” 

He swallows and sets the book down. She glances quickly at the cover and holds in a snort. Hemingway. Of course, he would find that sort of thing _comforting_ during this time. 

Raven waits for him to continue, not wanting to press, but willing to be there for him if he wants her. Part of her itches to just barrel right into it. To just get the answer and solve the problem. But she knows that won’t work with him. She’s learning that leadership is just as often about waiting as it is action. Not that knowing it helps with her impatience. God. She doesn’t know how Bellamy and Clarke stood it. Their loss is still fresh, unlike Finn’s. Fills her with such a profound sadness. In a way that she’s only ever let Murphy see her in the throws of it. Maybe because she knows he won’t tell anyone, or thinks he doesn’t even care. She knows better though, she’s just afraid of what it really means that Murphy’s the one she’s probably closest to up here. 

“Murphy made me realize some things,” he tells her. 

Raven chews on her lip and says without thinking too much, “God help you.”

Jasper laughs, and shakes his head. “I know you were the one behind it though.”

She flinches, and he goes on quickly, “I appreciate it though, I do.” He amends, “Well, maybe I didn’t appreciate it when Murphy came barging into my room way too early in the morning and demanded us to talk about my pity party, but…I do now.”

At the mention of how Murphy’d chosen to start his talk with Jasper, Raven looks up at the ceiling of the Ring. “That little shit.” She looks back at Jasper. “I’m so sorry, I did _not_ tell him to do that.”

“It’s okay,” Jasper responds, and he’s sort of laughing so she decides to not go into Murphy’s room and murder him later. “I understand why he did it the way he did. If he’d gone any easier on me, I’m not sure I would’ve realized he was right.”

“Jasper—” she starts, even though she does agree with what he’s just said. It still feels like she’s meant to comfort him despite it. 

He waves her off, thankfully, and she doesn’t have to continue. “I mean it, Raven. I think a part of why I got so bad was I felt like I could. I felt like the human race didn’t matter, so it was better off that I wasn’t…” 

He blinks rapidly for a moment and she wonders if he’s holding back tears. She certainly doesn’t know what she’s going to do if he does start crying. 

The moment passes, though, and he keeps going, “If I wasn’t here. And I can’t say that I won’t feel that way again, or that I’ll always have faith in humanity. I probably can’t, after everything. But Murphy made me promise I’d try. For Monty. For all of you. So, I’m trying, alright? You don’t have to feel bad for me or responsible. I know I haven’t been present much, but I’ll do my best to not fade away as much.” He lets out a slow breath. “This is the part where Murphy made a couple off-color jokes to lighten the mood, so feel free to do that.”

Raven chokes out a dry laugh, even though the moment is far from humorous. The idea of Murphy giving comfort and then immediately diffusing any seriousness from it is so fitting, she can picture it exactly. 

She moves closer to Jasper and grasps one of his knees with her hand. “I’m proud of you,” she tells him. 

His eyes get a little watery and he looks down for a moment. She doesn’t acknowledge it, just lets him gain control and then look back at her. 

“Not much to be proud of just yet.” He shrugs. “But I want to make you proud, Raven. I don’t want to be another problem you have to solve.”

She starts to protest, but it’s no use. He knows. At least he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. 

“I understand why I have been.” He sighs. “And I even get that I may have been one of the bigger ones you’ve faced so far up here. But I want to be helpful. Monty’s teaching me stuff about the algae.” He wrinkles his nose at it and Raven smiles a little. “I love the guy, but seriously, nothing beats that wild boar we had on Earth.”

“Agreed,” she replies. “But I promise, I won’t tell Monty.”

He holds up a pinky and she locks her own around it. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” she says.

He grins and it’s so much to Raven she didn’t even realize she’d almost been holding her breath, waiting for it. “I think I might actually believe that, too.”

* * *

Since they found Roan, Clarke hasn’t been able to bring herself to leave his side. For the first hour, she really did believe he was going to die. He was so close to it when they found him.

But now that she knows he’ll live, she has a lot of questions. And dammit, he’s gonna answer them. Starting with how the hell he lived through the damn death wave. 

She manages to make herself wait until he’s fully conscious to start grilling him. Bellamy’s body is coiled tight. From tension and worry. She knows he was never Roan’s biggest fan, but that losing him (on top of everything else) would just be one more burden she’d have to carry. That amount of care towards her isn’t something she can easily accept, let alone understand. It feels nice to have it though, not at all suffocating like it might’ve been months ago. At the very least she can now allow Bellamy’s consideration into her heart. Even if it’s not...That. 

But, really, she can’t afford to think about that kind of thing right now. She has to interrogate Roan. 

“How the hell did you survive?” she demands as soon as Roan can sit up right. 

“Delicate, as always, Wanheda,” he replies.

“Don’t call her that,” Bellamy says, gruff and only vaguely pissed off. Which, since it is Roan, Clarke takes as a win.

Roan shoots Bellamy a look that seems like he intends to fight him, so Clarke pushes on his shoulder. 

“Don’t even think about it,” she warns. “I might’ve just spent the last few hours saving your life, but I will take it away just as quickly if you just _try_ to hurt him.”

“Like he can even stand,” Bellamy adds, sounding just the smallest bit defensive. Which isn’t needed or helpful, but makes it so she has to press her lips into a thin line so she doesn’t smile. 

Roan glowers at Bellamy but Clarke demands his attention with another question, “How are you alive?”

His eyes drift to hers and she thinks he attempts a shrug but can’t quite manage it. It’s sort of incredible, seeing him so defenseless. Dehydration will do that to you. She knows he must hate it, but has probably done the math and realized he doesn’t stand a chance fighting them. Besides, she _was_ helping him before she asked him about surviving the unsurvivable. 

“Same as you, Wanheda,” he tells her. She frowns and though she’s facing Roan, she can practically feel the heat coming off of Bellamy’s glare. “Clarke,” Roan goes on. “I am alive because of my blood.”

Bellamy snorts. “Not even Azgeda could survive the death wave. Do you think we’re stupid? Tell us how you really lived.”

Roan grins and goes to make a remark that will doubt result in Bellamy firing off more than an insult, so Clarke raises a brow and narrows her eyes. He takes a slow breath and says, “Not Azgeda.” He looks from Clarke to Bellamy, a silent question hanging on his lips. “So the secret really was that well kept. I believed you knew,” his eyes go back to Clarke. “But held the information as a way to weaken me or embolden my enemies.”

She rolls her own. “Knew what?”

He holds up a palm and then looks toward Clarke’s side, at the knife on her belt.

“Don’t give it to him,” Bellamy says before she can even move.

She shoots him a look. “I didn’t think he was a threat, since, you know, he can’t even stand?”

Bellamy shakes his head but she ignores him and hands Roan the knife. “I escaped from the Conclave.” He smiles, wry. “It is easy to fake one’s death if their opponent wants them dead badly enough.” 

Then he holds up the knife and drags it lightly against his palm. Doesn’t even flinch, which doesn’t surprise Clarke in the least. She’s seen him do much worse to himself. 

When he takes the blade away, Bellamy murmurs, “What the hell…” Clarke feels a similar sentiment, but can’t speak. Where before she swears he bled red, black blood now comes from Roan’s palm. She frowns, unable to take in what she’s seeing. But it’s true. 

Roan is a nightblood. 

“My mother wanted it kept secret. Part of her plan to eventually take control. It was not meant to be revealed until the exact right time. But then…” he trails off and huffs. “The right time never came.”

“And you never thought to tell us, even after all the bloodshed, all the suffering?” Bellamy asks. 

Clarke swallows. “No, of course, you didn’t. You thought I knew, and believed that if I didn’t act, then it wouldn’t be wise for you to reveal anything you didn’t have to.”

“Very good,” Roan says.

She’s already deciding something, and locks eyes with Bellamy. He’s annoyed about it, obviously. But accepting. At least it won’t be a fight. 

Clarke looks from Bellamy to Roan. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Roan scoffs. “I don’t—” 

“You’ve seen the bunker?” she asks. “Because it is covered in rubble. There’s no getting down there. So, _we_ are leaving tomorrow to continue to look for food and water.” She looks at Bellamy, who nods after a moment. She goes on, “The three of us.”

* * *

Murphy walks past Echo’s room around six in the morning and spots Raven sneaking out on her goddamn tip-toes, which makes a look so smug appear on his face that he knows she almost floats him on the spot. 

Together, they make their way to her workspace. Murphy grinning the whole way and Raven pointedly ignoring it. But she can only do so for so long. 

“Shut up,” she says once they’re inside and in their usual seats.

He raises his hands in surrender. “I said nothing.” Which, technically, _is_ the truth. 

Raven sighs. “It just...Happened.”

“That is how sex tends to happen,” he replies. 

She shoots him a glare. “Forget it. Go backing to shutting up. We’re not talking about this.”

He pouts and she rolls her eyes. “Oh come on,” he responds. “I was just giving you crap. If you wanna talk about it, I’m all ears.” He grins. “Especially the hot details.”

Raven picks up a wrench. “I will throw this at your head.”

Murphy shrugs. “Might be worth it, depending on the details.”

She raises the wrench as if to throw it and he backtracks, “Kidding, of course. I am merely offering to let you talk about how you got it on with a former enemy as a friend and peer, that’s all.”

“It better be,” she grumbles out. 

He waits a moment, and then another. He’s almost given up on her actually talking about her and Echo’s obvious nighttime activities when she says, “Neither one of us planned it, I don’t think. And we talked after it happened and agreed it should just be a casual thing, given how we’re barely even friends. I think it’ll be okay but…”

Murphy softens his expressions and tells her, “Whatever it is that you gotta say, I won’t go around spreading it, alright? So just let it out or whatever.”

Raven swallows and runs a hand over her face. “It’s just...I wasn’t sure.”

He waits a second for her to go on, but when she doesn’t, he guesses, “That you were into chicks?”

She gives him a look, probably testing him to see if he’s playing her. He isn’t, for once.

“Yeah, I guess.” Raven nods. “I mean, I had a suspicion, you know. But the only person I was ever with was Finn. Then Bellamy. Then Wick.” She turns sad. “It wasn’t until I met Gina that I thought anything different. But then she got with Bellamy and…” She shrugs. “I never had much time to think about it.”

“Well,” Murphy leans back in his chair, trying to keep things casual but serious enough that she knows he isn’t making fun of her. “What do you think about it now?”

Raven grins. “I like girls. Definitely.”

He returns her smile and nods a little. “That’s good, then. That you know.”

“You’re not just saying that because now I can play out in your dirty little fantasies?” she asks, screwing up her face a little. 

“I can promise you,” he replies, “my dirty little fantasies are only like twenty-five percent of it.” He thinks about it. “Okay, maybe fifty. Fifty percent dirty fantasy, fifty percent supportive friend and peer.”

She blows out a breath and laughs. “I guess that’s the best I’m going to get, huh?”

He agrees, “Absolutely, unfortunately.” 

Raven snorts, and then goes to say something else, probably at his expense. Which he doesn’t even mind the thought of, really. But then there are shouts. What sounds like Monty and Jasper and Harper.

Though there’s no alarm system on the Ring, it seems like one goes off anyway. In just a moment, Murphy and Raven are going as fast as they can towards the voices. Raven’s limping slightly from the added pressure on her leg and she curses under her breath every couple of steps. He offers a shoulder to her like he did what feels like so long ago and she takes it. Harper’s exclamations can still be heard as well as Monty firing off numbers as fast as humanly possible. Maybe faster. He and Raven pick up their speed once they realize where the voices are exactly coming from. 

The algae farm.

Once they get there, the panic’s already run out. 

Harper starts talking a mile a minute and neither he nor Raven can understand what the hell she’s saying. Then Monty starts talking. Which doesn’t help matters in the least.

“QUIET!” Raven shouts. 

Once it’s silent, she turns to Jasper, who looks in shock and defeated but at least didn’t start firing off math and emotions at rapid speed when they walked in. 

“Jasper, what happened?”

He swallows and looks at Monty, who’s twisting his hands together. Harper places her own over his in a move to comfort him. 

“The algae." Jasper shakes his head. "It’s dead.”

Raven blinks and horror fills Murphy, takes the air right out of his lungs. 

“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice calm. But the kind that comes in the eye of a storm. 

Monty speaks up, “The culture went bad. I think because we were farming too much of the same kind or it got a disease or…” His mind must be a mess, given that he can barely put sentences together. “I’m running through every variable, but what matters is...We have maybe a day or two of rations until…” He curses. “I’m so sorry, Raven.”

To her credit, and Murphy’s awe, she does not crumble. She does not break. Raven Reyes looks at Monty, Harper, and Jasper in the eye and tells them, “Start figuring out a way to start a new growth. Work together and as fast as possible, but take care of yourselves.” She lets out a slow breath. “We will fix this. We will be okay.”

They exchange a look, but it seems none of them have it in themselves to fight Raven on this. Or maybe they really do believe her. If Murphy doesn't see the slight twitch in her jaw, the way she shifts on her leg, he might believe her, too. 

Once they’re gone, all the fight and bravado goes out of Raven. 

“We aren’t gonna make it, are we?” she asks. He can tell that her mind’s already going with the possibilities and ways to fix things and he knows she’s thinking there’s no way they avoid starving before they can grow enough algae back for a new farm. 

There’s so much dread and anguish to her voice it’s hard to hear it. Makes Murphy want to make a joke out of it. Anything to lighten the mood. That isn’t possible though. Not when starving is imminent and life uncertain. 

“We will,” he assures her. She starts to shake her head, and without thinking, he reaches out and grasps onto her hand. “The algae might be fucked, but we can make it.”

“What if we can’t solve it?” she questions and he knows she wants to believe him but can’t let herself. "What if _I_ can't?"

“I have never seen a problem you couldn’t solve,” he tells her.

It feels like far more than just a reassurance, and he doesn’t know why. Only that he has to do whatever he can to convince Raven that they’ll survive this. She has to stay strong for everyone, and he’s understanding that he has to stay strong for her. 

Raven nods, steeling her expression into one nearly devoid of anything but determination and focus. “You have a point.”

“Damn right I do,” he replies.

She grins, just the hint of one. 

Then they join their friends, and they get to work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looooooook I know Roan being a nightblood is v not possible for many reasons but I hope you can go with me and just *let it happen* 
> 
> Thank you for reading ❤︎
> 
> Find me on tumblr (@detectivebellamyblake)


	7. Some Vast Unnameable Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. So sorry for the lack of an update with this one for a while. I was focused on filling some prompts I received through t100fic4blm and have been trying to not burn myself out too much. That said, this chapter is one that was tough to write, but I'm pretty pleased with how it came out. It follows the aftermath of the previous one, and demonstrates an underlying issue throughout the fic which will be the mental health of all the characters. I hope I've done these moments justice.
> 
> If you don't know, there is currently an important initiative happening in t100 fandom at the moment. It is called t100fic-for-blm and basically, you donate/contribute in some other non-monetary way to an organization that aids the movement and get to prompt a content creator or writer in return. As a writer, I am currently only taking prompts for WIP updates at this time. You can find out more about prompting us and other information with our carrd [here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/). We are also currently advertising an audience-only survey. You don't have to have submitted a prompt to fill it out, it should only take a few minutes, and we greatly appreciate if you decide to take the time to do it. You can find the survey [here](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSfXcFI3r7_wdL0H9iyx6SLnM3Ey9bF8LaiTxYSSqXpg9bqxDw/viewform). 
> 
> Thank you so much for the lovely response this story has received thus far. I am so beyond grateful. I do ask though that if you have any constructive crit, you first ask me and dm me over on tumblr (@animmortalist). Further, please don't leave any hate. It doesn't help any one. 
> 
> Find the playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SORERZx9FcmNvkAywWP1E?si=4_CxhOPTTZaKBNUICu6gAw).
> 
> Sending all the love and good thoughts to you 💜

Murphy’s been through a lot. Both in space and on Earth. None of it prepares him for the next few weeks though. 

They’re starving, and there’s absolutely nothing anyone can do about it, as much as Monty and Raven try. He knows he could be doing more, but he can’t bring himself to—maybe because it’s so easy to think it’s hopeless, to give into that. Over the next two weeks, Murphy does a lot of giving in. 

It feels right, even as he knows it’s selfish and wrong. He tells himself he was playing himself before, helping Raven in all the ways he could. That’s not the real him, never has been. Why should people think about him any differently just because he had a momentary lapse in judgment these last few months? Self-serving, self-centered. That’s who he is, who people expect him to be, and so, he lets himself fall away from the group completely. All while telling himself that it’s for the best, that it was inevitable. 

It still feels like shit though, when he notices how Raven’s figured out that he’s quit. 

She doesn’t say anything, but it’s in her actions. The words she tells the others. How she looks at him. Like she’s hoping he’ll snap out of it at any time. Eventually, he comes to hate those stares. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, but he does know how to pick a fight. 

Rations are running low, so everyone’s on edge anyway. It isn’t hard to know what to say to Raven to get her going. He wishes it had been harder, or that he didn’t know her so well. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel her eyes on him, questioning, bordering on a plea, asking him to do something, anything. 

Murphy kicks up his feet at the table as Monty doles out the rations. They grow smaller and smaller every day. No one mentions it or complains. A part from his usual snide remark. 

“Aw, chef, you shouldn’t have,” Murphy says as Echo practically throws his at him. 

Harper glares at him and Monty just shakes his head. 

“What?” Murphy challenges them all, his eyes landing on Raven. “I thought a little comedy would lift everyone’s spirits. Nothing helps alleviate the pain of starvation like a good laugh, or so I’m told.”

“Will you shut up, John?” Emori asks. “You’re not helping, you know that?”

He gives her a winning smile. “Oh, don’t I? I’m sorry that not all of us can become a little protégé and discover our secret calling in life.”

Over the past weeks, Emori’s taken to Raven in a way none of them expected. According to Raven, when the two of them were still speaking, Emori marched into her workroom and asked her to give her work to do. Real work. Like how to get them back down once it’s safe. He doesn’t get what drives her to do it. The likelihood of them surviving those five years with no food is hardly likely. 

Emori’s eyes flash with such a stroke of anger it’s almost exciting enough to make him forget how hungry he is, how hungry they all are, and that there’s nothing he can do to change that. 

Before she can say anything though, Raven steps in.

“ _Enough_.” She shakes her head. “What the hell is wrong with you lately? Things get a little tough so you’re giving up? I thought you were better than that.”

“Nope,” he replies. “I’m the same narcissist I’ve always been. Gotta look out for number one while putting in minimal effort.” He points a finger at her. “If you thought any different about me, that seems like entirely your problem.”  
  


Raven narrows her eyes at him. “Everyone, go do something else.”

Echo opens her mouth but she gives her a look that keeps her from speaking. The rest of them retreat quickly enough. Once they’re gone, Raven doesn’t hesitate. He realizes she was holding back for everyone else’s benefit, not his. The thought makes him pleased in a way he knows it shouldn’t. It would probably piss her off even more if she knew, but it might also make her float him, so he decides against it. 

“What the fuck is your problem lately?” She stares him down and then looks away, biting her lip before adding, “I know things aren’t easy right now but you…” She swallows and looks back at him. “You told me _we_ would get through this. That I would be able to fix the problem.”

“And yet,” he gestures with a hand, “you haven’t fixed the problem, have you?”

“You’re an asshole,” she replies. “So that’s it, huh? I’ve let you down by not being able to fix the algae issue yet so you’ve just given up?” She shakes her head. “No way. There’s something else.” 

She starts to pace around the room, and he isn’t sure if it’s a threat of attack or her trying to solve him like a particularly difficult puzzle he used to love as a kid, when his dad was still alive. Jesus, this woman. She reminds him of the saddest shit. 

“Nothing else, darling,” he says. “This is who I am. It’s who I have always been.”

Her eyes flash back over to him. “You’re drunk.”

He grins. “And _you’re_ sleep deprived, but you don’t see me judging you for it.”

“Because you’d be dead if it wasn’t for me,” Raven bursts out, but then seems surprised by her own emotions. She takes a breath and continues, “And don’t bother saying I never would’ve made it this far without you because I’ll definitely float your ass.”

“Don’t tempt me with granting my wish,” is his response, and he hates himself for it, but not enough to stop. “But if I did say it, you’d know I had a point.”

“Are you trying to make me hate you?” she asks. “Is that why you’re acting the way you are? Why you’re insisting on completely giving up? Is it all just a way to get to me?”

“Now, that’s a little self-centered,” he replies.

“Dammit, Murphy.” She slams a hand down on the table. “I am asking you to please be serious for one second. What is going on with you? What can I do?”

The worst part is that it would be so easy to tell her. He _wants_ to confide in her about why he’s acting this way. The thoughts that plague him and make it nearly impossible for him to do much of anything. She doesn’t need to be troubled by him though. He already has done that enough. That isn’t all of it, though. He knows that as easy it would be to talk to Raven, it’s just as easy to slip into old habits and convince himself there’s nothing worth talking about. Because talking won’t make a difference, he thinks. It’ll only remind him of how much he’s been screwing up.

“Nothing,” he says. “Because there’s no saving me or making me better. Don’t you realize that? For fuck’s sake Raven, there are some things even you can’t fix, and I am one of them.”

Murphy doesn’t just expect the severity of her next remarks, he sort of looks forward to them. To confirm for himself just how much of a shithead he is, that he really isn’t worth anything. That everyone would probably be better off without him. He knows those are dark thoughts, and won’t do him any good, but they come anyway.

She swallows thickly, and he knows he’s gotten through, as much as he might hate himself for it. 

Just as he anticipates getting the punishment he secretly wants, the radio that’s at her belt starts flashing. A red light that immediately draws her attention away from him. Her eyes go wide and she picks up the radio and stares at it in wonder. 

“What—” he starts to say.

“Octavia,” she breathes out. 

Suddenly, his own thoughts are commanded by the radio. How the hell did she...He realizes she did manage to fix something. He was just too busy being a jackass to give her the opportunity to tell him. He feels awful for one moment, before he understands they’re wasting precious seconds.

They don’t discuss it or even say another word, they just take off running toward her workspace. 

The uneven hit of her leg on the ground is the only sound. When they reach the door, both of them breathing heavily, she flings it open and races to get the radio attached to the main system set up.

“Octavia?” Raven asks. “Octavia can you hear me?”

For a moment, there’s just static and the thrum of Murphy’s heart. Raven fiddles with switches and knobs, probably adjusting the frequency as best as she can. He wants to say something reassuring, but he knows he’d fail at it in the moment. 

Then, as he’s losing hope and it will be like the last time, the static clears.

“Raven!” Octavia’s voice comes clean through the speaker. “Holy shit! It’s you! Miller, Miller come here—it’s Raven.” She lets out a laugh. “I think he’s missed you more than me, and I’m the one that’s been radioing you everyday.”

“Hey!” Miller exclaims. “I’ve been with you like two-thirds of the time. It’s not my fault I have to help run this place since you’re too busy—”

There’s the sound of what seems like Miller being punched in the arm and him yelping in response. Murphy lets out what almost counts as a laugh. Raven meets his eye and he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen her grin so wide in the time that they’ve been up here. He’s only mildly insulted that it wasn’t because of one of his jokes. For a second, he forgets he’s supposed to be a sulky asshole, and returns it.

“I take it things are going well?” Raven muses around a snort. 

“Oh, swimmingly,” Miller deadpans. “What?” he asks, clearly more toward Octavia than them. “Like there aren’t enough brewing tensions in this place that it could turn into a full-on war at any time?”

Octavia sighs and turns serious for a moment, and Murphy feels the dread pool in his stomach. It was enough to lose Bellamy and Clarke, but the idea that things are difficult for Octavia makes him feel even worse. They all knew it was gonna be a shit show, but facing that reality after everything is a whole other ordeal. 

“We’re handling it though,” Miller adds, and Murphy wonders if it isn’t more for Octavia’s benefit than his or Raven’s. 

Octavia swallows. “Doing the best we can, given the circumstances.” Then she adds, breathless, “But where’s Bell? Can you get him right now? Or is he too busy making heart eyes at Clarke to speak to his little sister?”

This is the moment Murphy’s been dreading, and one he knows Raven’s been as well. They meet each other’s eyes. Raven opens her mouth to speak but no words come out. 

“What?” Octavia asks, almost laughing. “Don’t tell me one of them finally made a move?” He can practically see her eye roll. “On second thought, _don’t_ tell me. There are certain things I definitely don’t want to know.”

Raven starts to speak, but Murphy stops her. He’s a failure to her in every way. The last few weeks have proven this. He can do this though, he can tell Octavia the worst news possible. If he can alleviate that burden from Raven’s shoulders, he knows he has to do it. If nothing else, he thinks he might be able to hold it together more than her. He’s already deep in shutting down his emotions. What’s a little more trauma?

“Octavia,” he gets out, and pauses, finding the words harder to say than he thought. 

“No,” she interrupts, and he figures she must hear it in his voice. “No, Murphy. Don’t you fucking dare.”

There’s a tone that tells Murphy that Miller knows too, even when he questions, “What’s going on? Where’s Bellamy?” 

Murphy waits a beat. 

Octavia lets out a shaky, rattling breath, and it’s the absolute most horrible sound he’s ever heard.

“The fuck?” Miller cuts in. He must see something in Octavia that convinces him because he follows, “No way. That’s not...It can’t be. It just can’t.”

Octavia sniffs and he knows she’s probably crying at this point, and then says, “You have to say it. You have to say the words or it won’t be real.”

Again, Murphy looks at Raven. A few tears have escaped her resolve, and she brushes them away. She can’t say it either, but he can. He can accept this as his place in their empty dynamic. Even if it’s the last thing he ever grants her, he can at least do this. 

“He died,” Murphy says, and then feels himself choke on nothing. He forces himself to keep going, “And Clarke…"

“No,” Miller murmurs and Octavia lets out a sob. 

“Clarke died, too,” he makes himself say. 

He realizes he hasn’t said the actual words much. They’ve danced around them and made allusions to it, but he can’t remember the last time he said the truth out loud. 

“She didn’t make it to the rocket in time. Bellamy refused to leave without her.”

“Of course, he did,” Miller says.

Octavia’s fully sobbing now, unable to speak, and he can’t recall ever hearing her sound like this. Murphy knows he should say something, but what is there to say? What could possibly relieve the pain she’s feeling? He doesn’t do that kind of thing, never has, even when he was at his best. The only thing that could make this any better is a miracle, and there aren’t exactly a lot of those going around in this life. 

“I knew Clarke was gonna be the reason my brother died,” she lets out. 

It’s not bitter or cruel, it’s simply sad. Part of a truth they've known all along. Something that they never had time to touch upon, but now, they have nothing but time. 

“He…” she trails off and Murphy wants to let her know she doesn’t have to speak if she doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t think the words would do any good. “He was always a hero. To me. To other people.” She lets out another sob, this one dry and nearly silent, only nearly coming over on the radio. 

“We should say it,” Raven says. “For both of them. They deserve at least that.”

He doesn’t have to ask what she means. 

“In peace, may you leave this shore,” Raven begins.

“In love,” and Octavia nearly sobs again at the word, “may you find the next.”

Miller takes a weighty breath before he continues, “Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground.”

Then all of them somehow manage to say together, “May we meet again.”

* * *

During that first day they find him, Roan goes into the details of his survival over some of the last remains of their rations. The water is down to almost nothing between three people, but for once, that’s not the thing that commands all of Clarke’s attention. Instead, it lands on her friend. Who she thought was dead, and his body destroyed by the Death Wave. 

“I was born a natblida,” Roan eyes Clarke, “unlike you.” Then he turns his attention to Bellamy, “And apparently you as well. Did you use your own blood to save him?” he asks Clarke. When she doesn’t answer, he smirks a little and she thinks about hitting him. 

She presses her lips into a thin line, unable to believe what she’s hearing. “Why hide it?”

Roan winces and she can’t tell if it’s because of the lack of food and water he’s had or from a memory.

“My mother was a conniving woman, but she was smart,” he explains. “She knew if she played it right she could conquer and pillage as she liked.” He huffs out a breath, “Of course, she never saw that come to fruition.”

“And you never thought to tell us after Nia was dead?” Bellamy says, the accusations of betrayal all but spelled out. 

Roan cuts him a glare before he turns back to Clarke, “And do what? Offer myself up as an experiment?” He shakes his head. “There was no use in it. Maybe I should’ve told you, but can you tell me that it would’ve saved any more of my people? That it would’ve saved any more of yours?” 

Clarke and Bellamy look at each other. She sighs. There’s no denying part of what he’s saying is correct. That as much as it could’ve been useful, there’s no guarantee the knowledge would’ve helped anyone. If anything, it might’ve made things even more difficult for Octavia and the others. 

“And what about the conclave?” Bellamy asks. “Luna _killed_ you, remember?”

Roan gives him something of a wry expression. “You think it is so difficult to fake one’s own death?”

Bellamy scoffs and goes to argue, but she interrupts, “But why not try to get into the Bunker? Or…” She swallows and questions why she even continues, “Try to come with us?”

He lifts his brows and it’s all the answer she needs. Bellamy doesn’t like it though. She can tell through the questions and the distrust practically radiating off of him.

“We don’t trust you,” Bellamy says. “While we might help you stay alive, I want that to be clear.”

Old habits do seem to die hard, and Clarke suppresses a smile at Bellamy’s tone when he addresses Roan. It isn’t really that funny, that there’s still animosity between them, but it makes her want to laugh regardless. Even while facing down the more than likely possibility of their deaths. She’s more grateful for it than she expected. 

After she tells Bellamy to cool it with the interrogation tactics, they rest. Roan’s still weak, but he thinks they should leave by dawn the next day. Whatever food or water remained here, he’s already used up in order to survive. There’s no point in chasing ghosts, she reminds herself, as tempting as it may be. They need to focus on survival, finding somewhere, anywhere, that will support that. 

It’s been two weeks since then, and Clarke has lost hope completely.

Because four days ago, a sandstorm hit. The worst they’ve experienced since their time post-Death Wave, and Clarke hasn’t seen Bellamy or Roan since. 

The Rover’s solar panels are broken, so she’s made the trip to the solar fields. Except she’s so tired and hungry and thirsty, and she knows she’s close to death. She can feel herself slipping into its clutches every time she closes her eyes for just a moment of rest. 

That first day without Bellamy or Roan, she thinks it would be so easy to give up. The second, she's tempted. By the third, she starts to think that maybe she should. Today? She’s almost sure of it. The only thing keeping her from it is some glimmer of hope. Some last resolve that makes her keep going despite everything in her that says to give in.

Her whole body aches, but it’s nothing compared to the despair she feels at the thought that Bellamy and Roan are more than likely dead. She’s all alone on a dead planet, and for the first time, she truly believes she never should’ve survived in the first place. That this is her punishment for all the things she’s done. This is her Hell.

She wants to be done, so badly, she wants it to end. 

Clarke isn’t proud of the idea of actually following through with it. She’s always seen herself as a fighter. Someone who doesn’t give up, who keeps going, even when it seems hopeless. But it was never her who always had hope, she realizes, that was Bellamy. Without him, and without Roan, and she isn’t sure how she’s meant to go on. Eventually, she thinks that she isn’t. That she’s _supposed_ to die. Once that thought enters her mind, it’s impossible to root it out.

She keeps walking though. Continuing on long after her food and water runs out. Even when her body aches with sores and burns and begs her to give up.

But then she falls. She must place her foot wrong because one moment she’s trudging along, and the next, she’s tumbling down a steep slope of sand. There’s nothing to help her catch her balance or even try to lessen the blow of face-planting into the sand. If Roan were here, he would’ve made some joke about how far the great Wanheda has fallen. Bellamy would’ve scowled. Maybe she might’ve actually laughed. 

Just the thought of it all makes her choke out a sob while she attempts to sit up. Bellamy and Roan are gone, and she’s all alone. The world is hopeless, and all she has is a stupid gun. She takes a shaky breath and wills herself to not break down in vain. Her hands reach for it before she can think better of it. There is no thinking better at this moment. 

There is just her screaming until she’s hoarse about what this planet has rid her of—Wells, almost the whole 100, five years of her mom, safety, belief in the good of the world, and now, her life. 

Against all logic, as she stares down at her own death, she imagines hearing the Rover in the distance. Maybe she’s already done it, and she really has reached some kind of afterlife. She might be able to see Bellamy again. Her dad. Wells. All of those who she’s lost, who life has taken from her. She almost smiles at the thought, and then she brings the gun to her head. 

She’s about to pull the trigger when something knocks into her, yanking her to the ground. The gun’s forcibly removed from her grip. Though she can’t fight it too much, too preoccupied with whoever, no, she corrects herself, _whatever_ , has just knocked her down.

For a few seconds, she tries to piece together what it could be, and none of the thoughts are comforting. It feels fitting. Just when she’s about to finally rid the Earth of herself, monsters show up. 

She starts to sit up, but before she can fully, she’s pulled up to her feet. She thinks she’s dreaming, no, she _must_ be dreaming. Because the thing that tackled her? It’s Bellamy. She squeezes her eyes shut and wills herself to focus, to wake up, to do something other than imagine that he’s here. 

Then he starts yelling at her, and she knows she isn’t dreaming. That it’s real, that he’s alive. Clarke can’t stop herself from throwing herself at him. He pauses whatever curses he was spewing to wrap his arms around her as well. 

“I thought you were dead,” she chokes out. 

“I know,” he replies. “Us, too.”

She pulls away and sees Roan staring around at their surroundings, as if he’s uninterested.

“Looks like we were just in time,” he says.

Her whole face heats up. Of course, they saw. She looks behind her and isn’t surprised to see the Rover. A little worse for wear, but still there. 

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she says to Roan. “I—”

She doesn’t get to finish though, because then Bellamy starts chewing her out once more. This time with even more vigor than before. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him like this. Or maybe only one or two times. When he was scared. Clarke knows it probably didn’t look good, the scene they arrived on, but she isn’t sure how to talk about it. How to make herself discuss it. Really, she’d rather they all just dismiss it and move on, but Bellamy doesn’t seem to agree with her on that. 

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?” Bellamy demands.

She goes to answer him, knowing that words will already fail her, but before she can she hears a noise. One that sounds suspiciously like a ‘caw’. Almost like a bird, if she didn’t know any better. 

“Clarke,” he repeats. Then he turns to Roan, though Clarke’s own eyes are trained on the sky. “Don’t you have anything to add?”

Roan shushes him and she thinks that Bellamy might deck him right then, if it isn’t for the fact that he points toward the sky. 

The three of them stare up, and for one terrifying moment, she thinks they’ve all imagined it. But then the bird makes another circle around them. She gasps and Bellamy sucks in a breath.

They take off after it, running with energy none of them actually have. Their breathing labored but she knows what they’re all thinking. Food. Survival. A chance in hell of not dying in this damn desert. 

As they make their way up another slope, she has to tell herself she isn’t dreaming when she sees the Valley before her. All that _green_. It’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

“Wanheda!” Roan commands. She looks at him, bothered that he’s chosen _now_ to yell at her for something. Then he adds, “The gun, use the damn gun.”

She raises the gun without hesitation. This time, she finds her mark. The bird goes down.

“Thank you,” she whispers. 

And then her, Bellamy, and Roan race toward the only refuge this planet has decided to finally grant them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading ❤︎
> 
> Find me on tumblr (@animmortalist)


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